The Desert Children
by KLMeri
Summary: Abandoned to a dire fate in the wilds, McCoy learns that every tale has a dark origin. Gen - COMPLETE
1. Part One

******Title**: The Desert Children (1/?)  
******Author**: klmeri  
******Fandom**: Star Trek TOS  
******Characters**: Kirk, Spock, McCoy  
******Summary**: Abandoned to a dire fate in the wilds, McCoy learns that every tale has a dark origin.  
******A/N**: One would think after reaching 1,000,000 words, I would be content to end my writing career on a positive note. Sadly, the muse doesn't stop with a mere million! There's no good way to describe this story except to say I love to mix in fantasy when I can. :) Oh and, to make McCoy suffer while I'm at it!  
Also, I'm not expecting this to be long? IDK.

* * *

**Part One**

The sun is setting, casting long shadows of the distant red rock bluffs across the desert. Leonard lingers in the open, eyes on the horizon, as if caught by a hypnotic spell, because like any sunset it will be gone forever in matter of moments. At his back, the wind stirs up a dust of tiny dirt particles and sends them spiraling toward the sky. Automatically he lifts an arm to shield his mouth and nose, a gesture now as ingrained as the downturn of his face from the sun during its migration from morning to afternoon.

His skin bears a fine coating of several days travel, and red sand highlights his brown hair in thick streaks. His clothes are stiff, dirty, patched by sweat; the left sleeve of his shirt, appearing ragged, has been torn from wrist to elbow. One of its missing strips of fabric is wound and knotted about McCoy's right leg just above the knee. When he moves, he drags that leg slightly behind.

Leonard would stop moving altogether; he would stop walking if he didn't know it would be the death of him. There are seconds, long tempting seconds of despair, when he simply wants to lie upon the ground and close his eyes. The one time he did so, an insect which looked too much like a scorpion crawled onto his shoulder and stung him. He spent half of a day trying to decide if he had been poisoned enough to die and realized dying wasn't what he really wanted. He would be a fool to give up so easily. Isn't that what Doctor McCoy would tell anyone else?

Eight days is not that long to be alone. For three of those days, he has not had water, having shaken the last droplets from the bottle in his pack, which inevitably did nothing to appease his thirst. Technically he knows he should suffer from dehydration before the effects of this stifling, mindless solitude but he cannot stop longing for company. Maybe he is afraid to die alone, he'd concluded numbly after his fifth day lost in the desert.

His gait has slowed considerably since the initial onset of his trek to find civilization or rescue, attributed less to the dull pain in his leg and more to the dwindling of his will. Under a constant baking heat, he loses the ability to imagine reprieve, or to remember a time when he wasn't miserably hot, gritty, or hungry; a time when the only liquid in his mouth wasn't his own blood welling up from the cracks in his lips, or when the reddish dirt on his fingers didn't seem like a permanent stain.

Once the sun is fully below the horizon, he staggers forward, forcing his aching body into movement again toward a sporadic patch of small desert shrubs. Unfortunately, near his destination one misstep pitches Leonard sideways into a stumble; his right leg buckles immediately, already strained and unable to aid him, and he falls, catching himself on his hands and knees as he makes a jarring impact with the ground. The dull pain of the wound in his leg becomes fresh again, as searing and sharp as the moment the metal of a hand-made weapon had ripped into his flesh.

Leonard had thought his body hadn't moisture enough to cry, but he was wrong. A tear escapes the corner of his eye, cutting a clear, jagged path down the side of his face. The shrubs, or at least the comfort and (albeit meager) protection of them he had hoped for while he divided minutes between resting and hating this empty no man's land, seem too far away. He could crawl, perhaps, the remaining distance but exhaustion won't allow it. Slipping fully to the ground and easing onto his side, he curls his head into his arm and tries not to think and tries even harder not to let the ever-present despair fisted in his chest escape.

Only fools give up; only fools want to die.

_I'm a fool,_ he silently repeats. _A fool, fool, fool. _When his body is found, if it's ever found, he will probably be pitied as one.

He had been wrong not to listen when they said to wait, a stubborn-minded ass per usual. Now he's paying the price for his mulishness and his pride with this penance, which is to experience a lingering death far away from anywhere he could have imagined dying with dignity. Far away, too, from the people he imagined he would die beside—friends, family, maybe at the very least someone who respected him.

Jim will try to give him a post-mortem commendation for valor and brave service anyway.

The thought, as his only consolation, makes Leonard laugh. But soon quiet misery takes away his laughter and, thereafter, darkness takes the misery.

* * *

"Any report of contact as of yet, Spock?"

"Negative, Captain."

Jim Kirk briefly touches his fingertips to his closed mouth, tapping them once, before dropping his hand back to the arm of his chair. "I'm beginning to regret giving my consent to let him go," he confesses to his First Officer.

"The alternative was, I believe, not a matter worth consideration," the Vulcan comments mildly from behind his computer console.

Jim turns amused eyes upon his friend. "Truer words never spoken, Mr. Spock."

Spock does not reply. Jim's attention returns to the Bridge's screen currently displaying a view of a rust-colored planet. "We cannot accept their assurance of his well-being as fact for much longer. If Doctor McCoy hasn't personally communicated with the Enterprise by tomorrow's alpha shift, I want to a team ready to beam planet-side." But even as Jim says the words with a leader's confidence and ease, clearly following the standard protocol such a situation warrants, the red alert creeping up the back of his neck is hard to ignore.

He had made a mistake, he thinks, by allowing Bones to leave the ship to help the colonists.

* * *

When Leonard opens his eyes, a woman is sitting cross-legged next to him. Her face is thin and old and darker than his. The hands resting peacefully in her lap have broken, brittle nails.

Leonard blinks grit from his eyes but the woman doesn't disappear. His raw throat works with hollow clicks as he swallows against dryness. When he is finally able to ask her who she is, her watchful dark eyes skim his tired face. "Gram," she answers slowly, deeply, in a desert's voice.

A flash of white envelops the world behind her, and her shape, along with the twisting branches of the shrubs at her back, darkens into a strange silhouette, like a many-armed creature rising from the ground. There is a distant sound of thunder, and a slow rumble which trembles through the earth and sinks into Leonard's bones. He pushes himself upright, squints and shades his eyes against the sky's heat lightning to see the details of her face. There is little to be seen, however, except for a stoic expression edged with eerie calm.

Suddenly Leonard has a fierce desire to see Spock there instead, a wanting which he shoves aside as forcefully as it strikes him. "Gram," he says, "I need help."

"I know. I can help you."

Maybe she doesn't understand the true gravity of his situation? He rubs his hand carefully against the cloth binding on his leg but feels no pain. "I was left out here to die, Gram."

"I know."

"How'd you get out here? Were you left too?"

Her gaze sharpens. "I was born here."

"Where?" He looks around as if there might be a house he had mistaken for bushes and rocks in his delirium.

Her face, tapering into a point, tilts downward and for a moment Leonard thinks he sees something entirely inhuman in her features. "I will show you."

His hands are surprisingly cold; he rubs his fingers together to bring back the warmth his flesh had collected during the daytime. There's no better choice, he decides.

She doesn't look frail but she isn't young so he doesn't ask her to support his weight, though his movements are sluggish and his limbs highly uncooperative. Get up, he silently commands of his legs. Get up, you stupid things, and get us to shelter. Then take me back to where I belong.

His eyes turn up to the starless sky at that thought, and wistfully he pretends he can seem a glimmer of the Enterprise's hull from space. Home, for him, is far beyond reach while he stands here, small and alone and indiscernible on this planet.

No, not alone, he reminds himself as the woman rises to her feet. Shadows flow from the ground with her. She is small too, much smaller than he is. Her hair isn't white or gray, he realizes, only silvered by the moonlight; such an odd contrast to the age of her face. He keeps his eyes fixed on her shape gliding through the night. She pauses at intervals, a faint outline branching upward from the flat land, to make certain Leonard is following her.

"Come," his rescuer beckons more than once when he stumbles over a root or hesitates, glancing over his shoulder. Eventually, his spot of shelter recedes into the surroundings, finally into nothingness.

"Leonard," the call is clear, "come now."

He shivers and limps after her.

* * *

There is no reply to the radioed missive stating Kirk intends to send down more of his men to the colonists' base. Because there is no reply—and because Jim was unable to sleep due to a feeling of unease nagging at him—he adds himself to the roster. If Commander Spock is surprised when Kirk strides into the transporter room, outfitted with a phaser and a smile, he does not express his surprise. Jim suspects Spock had already guessed he wouldn't opt to stay on the Enterprise. That Spock intended to lead the investigative team is answer enough for Jim of whether or not the Vulcan himself shares a measure of Jim's unease about McCoy's silence.

The party of four doesn't immediately land into trouble, but Jim senses it the moment they materialize on an empty street. He signals to a security officer to explore the outpost in one direction. With Spock at his back, he cautiously enters what should be the headquarters of the base.

Empty as well, and quiet, except for the noise of a generator through a half-open door.

"Where's the medical facility?" Jim wants to know, ready to be rid of this strange, too-still atmosphere.

"I have the location, Captain," Spock offers, speaking as he adjusts the settings on his tricorder.

"I don't like this, Spock," Kirk mutters quietly. They leave the building and step back onto the deserted street. The security officer and his companion, one of Spock's science officers, hails Kirk with an 'all-clear'.

The Vulcan takes a moment to share a look with his Captain. "Nor I, Jim," he agrees.

* * *

"I-I've got to rest a minute," Leonard pants after tripping over his own feet for the third time. His arms and legs shake as he lowers himself to the ground.

The woman, still wearing a serene mask, drifts back to him in an odd fashion, as if she is tracing the line of some invisible circle carved into the earth. Her body seems tiny now, unimposing, and she is utterly silent as she walks.

Leonard's sense of time must be skewed because it feels as though they have been traveling endlessly in one direction, but they can't have walked far yet; there are no signs of settlement. He desperately wants four walls around him. He doesn't like being exposed to the environment, both for security and medical reasons, while in pursuit of a goal he cannot see.

Weary and heartsick, Leonard drops his chin to his chest. His hand rubs at his leg again, but it doesn't hurt at all. He should worry about that; he would worry if he could summon the energy to properly connect two thoughts together. His hand falls to his carry-pack and picks it up. He could close his eyes for a moment, just a moment...

There is one thing Leonard can do even if he can't think coherently, and that is talk. He's been told he can talk more than a Tellarite ambassador can argue.

_Ha_, _Jim thinks he's so hilarious sometimes_. The thought comes from nowhere and leads to another thought: if the Captain was lost like this, he wouldn't be depressed about it. Grim, tough as nails, determined to live—that's James T. Kirk.

Leonard almost says that out loud but discovers he doesn't want to speak of Jim and any of his ship-side colleagues to a stranger. Instead, "It's funny, how this all came about," he begins, not bothering to open his eyes. He wonders idly if his voice sounds as terrible as it feels when he produces words. "Well, funny's not the right way to put it... Nothing's funny about being hoodwinked by a bunch of people you think you're helping." His shoulders slump. "I was so damn eager to come down here…serves me right, I guess. What's that old sayin'? No good deed goes unpunished."

There is air on his face suddenly; no, not air—it's foul-smelling, rancid. When Leonard opens his eyes, something large, black, and hirsute is crouched in front of him blocking the moon, only inches from his face and breathing in hot gusts against his cheek. He catches a quick glimpse of yellow teeth in a mouth, almost canine in shape and size, and screams on instinct, falling onto his back with abject horror and squeezing his eyes shut against the unexpected hideous sight.

"Get away!"

The arm he brings up to his face, a detached part of his brain says, will do little to stop an attack when the thing leaps for his throat...

Silence. Nothing happens. Then something touches him but lightly and lacking threat.

"Wake."

Leonard opens his eyes and peeks over the top of his arm.

The woman, not a beast, is squatted before him, staring. Her long hair, a moon-silver, is flat and stringy, and it certainly doesn't cover her face or body like fur. Heart in his throat, Leonard scoots away from her slightly. "Wh-what was that?"

"Come," she tells him and points in direction. "I can help."

"What are you?" he insists. No, of course she can't be human. There are no humans on this planet except for Leonard and those designated to live here as part of the Federation's colonist program. Think, Leonard! Homo-sapiens originate some thousands of solar systems away. "What are you?" he repeats, trying to quell the fright in his voice.

"Gram," she answers. She questions, "Nightmare?"

"I wasn't asleep!"

She points. He realizes she is indicating his pack, the one that had been tossed with him out of the hovercraft when he had been dumped in the middle of nowhere. He cranes his neck around to look at it, situated in the perfect spot to support his head should he stretch out to sleep. His neck hurts with the familiar ache of using it for a pillow. But he hadn't been sleeping, had he? He had wanted to rest, picked up the pack and—laid down?

"I can't remember," he admits, touching his red-crusted fingers to his forehead.

"Come," she says again. "I can help."

But the beast…? Her hands flex; he looks at her ragged nails.

"How much can you help?" he whispers.

"This is my desert," she says. "Leonard, come now."

He thinks about saying no, but dawn is curling at the edges of the night sky. If he's alone, there is only more cruel sun and no food. No water. It will be the fourth day without water. He isn't going to survive much longer by himself.

"Okay," he agrees and pulls his legs under him, careful of the one which is injured. "Let's keep goin'." The decision, it turns out, isn't that difficult to make after all.

The woman's mouth stretches in a smile that could easily be described as a jackal's grin. Leonard pauses, one hand upon the ground and the other on his uninjured knee. He stares at the glint of yellowed enamel inside her mouth. Their eyes meet.

"Gram," he murmurs, "what big teeth you have."

She doesn't respond, but then again he doesn't expect her to. It's a human joke—a joke that, as of now, he doesn't find funny at all.


	2. Part Two

**Title**: The Desert Children (2/5)  
**Author**: klmeri  
**Fandom**: Star Trek TOS  
**Characters**: Kirk, Spock, McCoy  
**Summary**: Abandoned to a dire fate in the wilds, McCoy learns that every tale has a dark origin.

* * *

**There will be some switching between past and present until a full picture of the story comes together.**

**Part Two**

_two weeks prior_

"If that green-blooded computer skips his appointment one more time...!"

Christine winces in sympathy for each instrument as it passes through the CMO's hands during his foul mood.

"What does he think—that I've got time to chase his skinny Vulcan butt across this ship? Every day my Sickbay is packed full of idiots who can't remember to wear safety gear or stop ordering the Rigellian surprise from the replicator! When an appointment time becomes available, he ought to be grateful we can fit him in and damn well take it!"

Christine, who has been listening to some variation of this rant for the better part of a week, sighs. "Doctor..."

McCoy picks up another surgical laser, snarls at it not for being what he wanted, and slams it down next to the growing pile of discarded tools. "And, ho oh ho, he just _assumes_ I'll be _lenient _because he thinks he's physiologically superior to humans! Wait until I show 'im exactly how—"

"Doctor McCoy, please put down the regenerator."

He fixes his glaring blue eyes on her. "Excuse me?"

"There are only two left that work. Can you...?" She gently eases the handheld regenerator from his grip. "That's better. Why don't you take a lunch break?" Chapel suggests sweetly.

He purses his lips for a moment, then his shoulders break from their rigid line and slump slightly. "But I was looking for the #9."

"I'll find it," she assures the doctor. "Clearly you need some downtime. And I will contact Mr. Spock about his missed appointment," she adds.

"Don't bother," McCoy says darkly as he abandons a desktop of scattered, slightly abused medical supplies and stalks toward the bay's exit. "I'll see to his truancy personally."

Poor Mr. Spock, Christine thinks. She doesn't envy him that future conversation. Then again, he took the risk of McCoy's ire with each appointment he cancelled and after the third consecutive time, now the price has come due. The sooner, she decides, he admits his fault, apologizes and lets them do their jobs, the sooner she can stop hiding away the more expensive equipment in the medical bay in fear of Leonard's temper.

Dr. M'Benga peeks around the corner of a wall. "Is he gone?"

She nods. "To the cafeteria, I think."

M'Benga enters the room, looking relieved. When he spies the mess the CMO had left behind, he shakes his head sadly. "We really do have to hide them better."

Christine, hands on her hips, shoots him a sharp grin. "Oh, these are the decoys. Do you think I would actually leave fully functional supplies out in the open? He can throw these around all he wants. No harm done."

"You, my dear, are brilliant."

She fluffs her short hair with pride. "I know...but thank you for pointing it out, Geoffrey."

* * *

"Jim!"

Jim freezes immediately at the sound of his name, internal warning bells clanging furiously in his head, and realizes hiding the slice of chocolate cake on his tray is impossible. Instead, he quickly and expertly slides the dessert plate next to the elbow of a pretty ensign sitting two seats down at his table and puts his back to her like he has no idea there is cake in the vicinity.

McCoy thumps his own tray onto the table between Kirk and the ensign and takes a seat. Jim recognizes his serious tactical error in that moment and stares at the piece of cake, now separated from him by a metaphorical mile of table and his not-so-metaphorical personal dietician.

"What's the matter with you?" the doctor asks, eyeing Jim's devastated look.

Jim viciously stabs a salad cube. It tastes nothing like chocolate cake. "I'm fine," he mumbles somewhat sourly and glares at his orange tray.

McCoy sighs long and low, an obvious sign that he wants Jim to ask him the same question.

"Long day, Bones?"

The CMO bristles and the words come out like a shot. "It's that damned Commander of yours!"

Should he be surprised? Years of watching the byplay between McCoy and Spock has taught Jim to be anything but surprised. "Should I even ask?"

"Don't think I don't know you're in on it, Jim!"

Uh oh. Trouble ahead. Jim spares a glance for McCoy. "Why am I always accused of acting in Spock's favor? I do have moral compunction."

His friend snorts. "Don't even get me started on the way you bend rules for that hobgoblin, Jim."

Jim chews a replicated lettuce leaf and wonders if spitting out the tasteless food would earn him a lecture. He swallows it with some difficulty then addresses McCoy's bold statement in a mild tone. "I could always change my ways and become a different kind of captain, Doctor McCoy—if that's your point."

"It's not," McCoy admits. "I'm not complaining."

_Of course you are, _Jim thinks. About what, though, that's the question.

The dark-haired man ignores the food on his tray and sips at a mug of coffee. "My point is, there ought to be one rule on this ship that's straight and narrow and somethin' nobody can get around."

Jim almost quips that rules are made to be broken but he catches himself. "Whose rule is it, Bones?"

Leonard meets his eyes. "Mine. You tell Mr. Spock, Captain, that if he doesn't show up for his next examination, I and a whole medical team will be permanently settin' up shop in his quarters."

"I'll pass along the message, Doctor McCoy."

"Good." McCoy picks up his fork and twists to the side to address the ensign. "That's a nice lookin' piece of cake, darlin'."

"Oh, it's not—" At Jim's loud cough, the ensign's eyes widen with understanding. "I mean, yes, yes it is. Nice cake, that is."

"Mind if I try some?" Doctor McCoy asks her.

Under the table, Jim's hands spasm on his knees. _Not the cake!_

Cautiously, the ensign edges the dessert plate toward her superior. "I'm not... really hungry." Then she collects her tray and vacates the table as quickly as possible, leaving Jim to stare at the delicious treat now in McCoy's possession. It's the smug expression on the doctor's face as he takes the first bite of the chocolate cake that says McCoy knows exactly whose dessert he is eating.

And Jim can't fight him on it.

Though the revenge is petty, Jim feels slightly mollified as he says, "On second thought, Bones, why don't you talk to Commander Spock directly?" He stands up. "I have Bridge duties to attend to."

"I'd planned on it anyway. You think Spock would actually take you seriously if you said come on down to Sickbay?"

Jim stares at McCoy. "...Yes. I'm the Captain."

"And I'm a vetted physician. The only way to get him to comply is to drag him by the tip of his pointed ear like a naughty child."

"I have things to do," Jim mutters and makes a swift exit. He can no longer contain his amusement once he is in the hallway, and no one seems to think it strange that their commanding officer is laughing himself silly. They pass by him without a word but smiling nonetheless.

* * *

"Doctor McCoy is looking for you," Chief Communications Officers Nyota Uhura warns the Science Officer.

Spock does not appear overly worried to hear this news. "Doctor McCoy is well-aware of where I might be found."

"You are a very brave individual, Mr. Spock," Uhura says warmly and turns back to her station.

This is the statement that alarms Spock. He lifts his head and looks in her direction. "May I inquire why you have cause to say so, Lt. Uhura?"

"Oh, you know how the doctor is," she remarks as she cheerfully switches between communication dials.

"I... do not. Please explain."

She doesn't answer immediately, listening to something in her ear piece. "No one openly defies him, not even the Captain," she begins idly. Then, "Mr. Spock..." Her voice holds a question, deferring to authority. Spock moves silently to stand beside her station. "There is a new message from Starfleet, sir," she explains. "Orders. They want us to change course to a Federalist colony in the alpha-six-four sector."

"Notify the Captain and relay the message to my station," Mr. Spock tells her, all thoughts of McCoy forgotten.

* * *

_present_

Leonard stops and stares at the scenery, not quite sure if he is hallucinating. The woman steps into a shadow belonging to a branch of a tree that closely resembles a gigantic dead oak. That the tree is alive in an expanse of dry desert, and by the looks of it fairly ancient, Leonard has difficulty processing as real. He puts the back of his hand to his forehead; his skin is warm but not overly so. No fever then, he thinks. But where had the tree come from? It's not like he hadn't been paying attention to their surroundings.

Silently, his companion blends from one shadow to the next as she moves toward the broad trunk of the tree. Upon its peeling bark, she knocks twice.

"Who's there?" a disembodied, grumbling voice asks.

Even with a faint morning sky, Leonard peers up into the leafless branches of the tree and sees only emptiness.

"I said," the voice comes again, rougher, "_who's there?_"

Above them, a deep shadow shifts, detaches from the girth of the tree and shapes itself into a man. The man waddles out onto a branch big enough to easily bear the weight of three grown adults and hunkers at its edge. He hasn't cast off with his shadow form yet, but the unnatural glow of his eyes causes a nervous tingling in Leonard's stomach.

"Ah," the man concludes of the people standing below, "visitors." Swiftly he comes down to the lowest branch to stare at them.

Leonard isn't certain of what to say. He tries a mundane "Hello?"

The man jumps to the ground then. He is squat-like in stature, hairless, and flat-nosed. The random scattering of white scars carved into his bare arms and legs adds a rather frightening layer to his mysteriousness. Leonard takes a tentative step away from him.

To the woman, the man says knowingly, "So you want a rest in my tree, eh? There's a price."

She points at Leonard.

The man grins slightly, revealing tiny, needle-like teeth and fixes his eyes on Leonard. "She says you pay." He scuttles forward and surveys Leonard from head to toe. "A fine dinner, I see."

"I don't have money," Leonard begins. "I'm—"

"Bah!" The man snorts. "Did I say anything about money? _Dinner will do_."

He's tired, thirsty, and the dirtiest he's ever been in his life. "Do I look like I'm toting dinner!" Leonard snaps, anger blossoming from the roots of his desperation. He jerks the carry-pack from his shoulder and wrenches out the empty bottle. "I don't even have water, damn you!"

The small man ignores the bottle Leonard disgustedly pitches onto the ground and bends down to pick up the communicator that had fallen out of the carry pack. He _hmms _over it with interest. Leonard, temper forgotten, reaches down to take it but the man scurries away with his prize.

"Hey, I need that!" Never mind that it's broken, possibly disabled by the colonists. That could be the very unpleasant truth since they clearly didn't want Leonard to be able to contact the Enterprise.

Settled midway up the tree, the man flips open the lid of the communicator then flips it closed again. He repeats this several times, only pausing to put an ear to the speaker when it crackles with static. "This will do," he says at last, still ignoring Leonard's demands to have the comm unit returned to him. Immediately the woman springs into the air with a lithe strength, takes a hold of the lowest branch, and swings her body into the tree. Leonard is left gaping at its foot.

"Well, don't just stand there," the tree's owner calls down to the human, "unless you want to get wet."

The first drop of rain is an unexpected surprise. Leonard glances at the cloudless sky in bafflement. Yet the rain keeps falling, first softly, innocuously, then in fat drops that sink into his dusty clothes and wash the red dirt from his face. He realizes belatedly how stupid he is to simply stand under the downpour and scrambles for the water bottle that had rolled between two exposed tree roots. It's like being a kid again, trying to catch the rain with his hands and watch his bottle fill. If the two people in the tree can hear him partly laughing, partly crying over the sound of the rain, he doesn't spare a thought for embarrassment.

The man makes a low chortle when Leonard finally sits down at the base of the tree and savors the slide of tepid, metallic-tasting water along his throat. The rain, pouring as it is from the sky and hissing at each contact with the overheated desert sand, cannot seem to touch Leonard as long as he leans against the great tree. High above, the woman has curled on her side upon a limb and lies utterly still like she is asleep.

A "You're welcome" floats down to Leonard as a solitary leaf might—though whether the being refers to the dry sanctuary or the rain itself is unknown. And Leonard, too shocked by the fortunate change in weather and heavy-limbed with relief, forgets to ask.

* * *

The Enterprise party catches sight of a colonist watching them from a window. It takes little time to find the person and apprehend him then prevent him from running away. Jim tries to be polite because he doesn't want to seem hostile or engender hostility towards his group.

"We are from the starship Enterprise. Where is Doctor McCoy?"

The person, a young man, mutely shakes his head. His wide eyes continuously track back and forth between Jim and Spock.

"Doctor McCoy," Jim says slowly. "My _Chief Medical Officer_. He was transported to your base to assist in the research of the disease afflicting your children."

Again, the man shakes his head. He trembles when the security officer lifts a phaser in warning and chokes out, "D-Don't k-know!"

Jim shoots a hard look at his overzealous officer until the red-shirted man lowers his weapon sheepishly.

The colonist swallows and lifts his hand to point at Spock. "One of them," he whispers.

Jim looks to Spock, whose eyebrow rises in question. What is the fellow trying to tell them? "This is my First Officer, Mr. Spock," Jim introduces the Vulcan.

Spock tells the young man, "We are seeking Doctor Leonard McCoy of the Enterprise. If you are unable to provide his location, please indicate where we might find the commander of your outpost."

Hearing Spock speak has a strange effect on the colonist. He turns pale and backs away in obvious fright. Spock, perhaps unused to this reaction, grows very still. Jim steps forward slightly to block the colonist's view of Spock, acting on an instinct he has honed over many years. "There is no reason to fear Mr. Spock."

"But his ears," the colonist protests, raising both hands to cover his own rounded ears.

"He is a Vulcan."

"Only the Others," the young man argues in a raggedly, "have them. But why…? No!" He gasps, focusing his attention solely on Spock. "The man, we gave you the man! We paid the tithe!" And, without warning, he bolts.

With a silent curse, Jim takes off after him. The man, lent an extra swiftness by his fear, plunges down the street and finally through the side door of a ram-shackle building. When Jim enters on his heels, panting from the chase, he finds himself in a room surrounded by people. No, not people—_children_, all of whom are of varying young ages, male and female standing in mixed gender pairs, barefoot and dressed in identical clothes like twin dolls. They lift wide, fearful eyes set in pale faces to Jim. The young man has grabbed one of the girls by the wrist, separating her from her boy companion, and dragged her to a corner where he shields her from view.

There is a knife-edged balance between fear and panic in the room. Jim doesn't move an inch, struck by a keen awareness of this balance. He does not, however, realize how deep their fear goes or why. It isn't until the last of Jim's team crowds behind him in the cramped space—until Spock, that is, becomes a tall shadow in the doorway—that the children begin to scream in terror.


	3. Part Three

**Title**: The Desert Children (3/5)  
**Author**: klmeri  
**Fandom**: Star Trek TOS  
**Characters**: Kirk, Spock, McCoy  
**Summary**: Abandoned to a dire fate in the wilds, McCoy learns that every tale has a dark origin.

* * *

**Part Three**

_twelve days prior_

"What's the point in dropping off medical supplies if no one down there knows how to use them? It's a colony of farmers!"

"Bones," Jim sighs, "we aren't authorized to intervene."

Doctor McCoy catches the Captain's arm. They come to a halt in the corridor, neither man paying attention to any onlookers. "Do you know _why _the Federation is sending them supplies? Did you even read the full report?"

Stung, Jim snaps back, "I read the report, Doctor McCoy—and I also read and fully comprehended the Enterprise's orders. As the closest, fully stocked vessel, we are to deliver supplies to the colony. A delivery, no more."

"Thirty-two dead children in eight years, Jim! _Thirty-two_, of a disease their parents can't even describe on paper! Thirty-two children compared to five adults... doesn't that strike you as odd? Is the bureaucracy so cold-hearted they think that's not worth sending _one _man to investigate? We can't simply ignore people who need our help!"

Jim closes his hands on McCoy's arms and gives him a light shake. "I know that, Bones. I know, and I asked, believe me, but we aren't authorized—"

"I swear to God, Jim, if you say that one more time..."

Jim drops his hands and steps back from the other man, drawing his mantle of authority about himself once more. This isn't the place to argue, and Jim is late for his meeting with Chief Engineer Scott. "The matter is closed for discussion, Doctor. I suggest you return to Sickbay and focus on the patients you are already have."

The CMO rocks back on his heels, clearly gritting his teeth. Leonard isn't happy, and he isn't ready to give up the fight. That much Jim can see. And if Jim is honest with himself, which he strives to be as he enters a turbolift alone, he may soon cave to his friend's demand. Why shouldn't they, as sworn Starfleet officers, determine if additional help is needed? Could he truly send the Enterprise back into the depths of space with that unanswered question on his conscience?

* * *

"Not authorized, my sainted aunt!" McCoy snarls, slamming into his office. "That stubborn-headed, egotistical—"

"Might I suggest that you do not finish that insult, Doctor McCoy? I would be obligated to report it."

"Spock!" Leonard's surprise quickly turns to a scold. "You're late. In fact, you're _three months late_."

"There have been... unforeseen complications with my schedule."

"Excuses, excuses—I don't have use for them, Commander," the doctor says, approaching the Vulcan, "nor want to hear 'em. I'll call Chapel and have her prepare an exam room."

Spock remains unmoving. "I would like to address your outburst during the briefing yesterday."

Leonard props a hip on the corner of his desk and folds his arms. "Fine. But don't think you're walking out of my bay without that physical, Mr. Spock."

"I am aware of that," the First Officer murmurs lightly. Then, "Doctor McCoy, while your behavior was not becoming of an officer given your rank and title—"

"Get to the point."

"—you had a valid argument."

There is a heartbeat of silence. "Wait," Leonard says incredulously, raising his hand to forestall any other speech, "are you saying you agree with me?"

"I implied it."

McCoy cannot help but grin a little. "Spock, I'm touched. I guess there's some merit to that Vulcan sense of yours after all!"

"If I may continue?" is the bland reply.

He nods, his grin settling into a satisfied smile.

"I have conducted a careful study of the colony's history and outlined certain risk factors. However the projected risk is negligible if you follow protocol. It can be argued that, circumstances permitting, Medical would benefit from a short case study of the colonists' plight. If you wish so, I could speak to the Captain on your behalf."

Leonard dabs theatrically at the corner of his eye. "Aw, I'm gonna cry!"

"Pardon me?" Spock straightens, the only hint of his alarm.

He rolls his eyes heavenward. "It's an expression, you emotionally constipated hobgoblin." His blue eyes twinkle merrily. "This is great, Spock. How soon can you convince Jim?"

A pause. "If I was not detained by an appointment with Sickbay, I would be able to speak with him immediately."

"You sneaky—! Well," the man says grudgingly, "guess I walked into that." He stands up. "Well-played, Mr. Spock. You've got your pass. For now."

Spock dips his head, the acknowledgement of one devious mind to another. "Then if you will excuse me, Doctor McCoy, I shall locate Captain Kirk. " He adds, almost as an afterthought, "And as humans are so fond of saying, good luck."

Leonard laughs and waves him away. "Good luck's what you'll need when I come back from the colony!" he calls merrily to the Vulcan's retreating back.

* * *

_present_

Spock shoots Jim an easily interpretable, bland look, and Jim nods slightly in response. Without fuss, the Vulcan exits the building. Instantly the screaming dies into a mixture of whimpers and stifled distress. Jim takes a moment to look over the crowd of children before departing to join his First Officer.

"That," he says helplessly to the Vulcan, "was unexpected."

"Affirmative, Captain."

"Are you all right?"

Spock simply looks at him.

"Okay, okay. I know—an illogical question. Forgive me, Mr. Spock, I just... have no idea what is going on here. What have they done with McCoy, and why is everyone so _frightened_?" His eyes track back to the doorway and linger there. He mutters, "I feel like the bogeyman."

"Though the reference 'bogeyman' eludes me, Captain, I comprehend your meaning. I shall remain at a distance, but available to assist, while you attempt to discover the answers to your questions."

"I will tell Jackson to team up with you," Jim advises. "Find the medical facility—and hopefully answers to those questions we haven't yet learned to ask." He steps up to the entrance again, pausing only to say, "Good luck, Spock."

"Captain," Spock acknowledges in return.

* * *

"Wake up. Hey, Dinner, wake up!"

The command is hard to ignore, particularly in conjunction with the finger prodding sharply into Leonard's ribcage. The human's head jerks upward as he snaps from sleep. Squatted a few hand-spans from him is the little man, who eyes Leonard in satisfaction for a brief moment before waddling away, grumbling as he goes. Standing a farther distance away, at the threshold of the tree's reach, the shape of the woman can be seen as she looks out over the land. Groggily, Leonard realizes it's far beyond afternoon and he has slept most of the day with his back to the wide oak. He leans forward and scratches at his shoulder blades, feeling the ache of the hard bark that had been pressed into his skin. Without thought, his fingers seek out the water bottle and shake it to confirm that it's still full.

Leonard drops back against the tree and sighs, a hand falling to his leg. His thumb strokes the edge of the tattered binding. He watches as the man wanders over to Gram and make a shooing motion.

"Scat!" she is told, like she is a vagabond hanging around his tree.

Gram turns her head and, of all things, growls at him.

"None of that now," the strange, small man reprimands her. "Sun's coming down 'gain, and our deal's run its course. Take your human and go—or give him to the Tree. It doesn't matter a bird's bone to me!"

She stares at the man for a long minute before beckoning Leonard to his feet. "Come now," she calls.

Leonard would rather stay sitting in the only shade in the entire desert. And who's she to order him around? He lifts an eyebrow at her. "How about this: you tell me where we're going, and I'll decide if I want to get up or not."

Gram says nothing for a moment, seemingly uncaring of his rebellion, but Leonard still tenses as she silently approaches him and kneels at his side. Her hand covers his resting on his injured leg, a lean, long-boned contrast to the blunt shape of his masculine hand. He thinks she is going to softly persuade him to leave the tree; Leonard is therefore shocked when her fingers crush his hand in an unnaturally strong grip and bite down into the flesh of his wound.

The pain is awful, perhaps more terrible than what he had initially felt in the first minutes of his injury. His body automatically seizes, arching upward from the electric sensation, and Leonard tries desperately to pull her hand away from his leg. It's like stone.

"Please!" he gasps. "Stop it!"

"Your leg is not healed."

"You're making it worse! Dear God, STOP IT!"

She must hear an appropriate begging quality to his voice, one she had been waiting for, because she lets him go. For a second or two, Leonard concentrates on breathing, on calming his body's response to the severe pain. Though the pain finally settles into a deep ache, the memory of it stays fresh in his mind.

Shaking, he asks, "How could you...but w-why did you do that?" He holds Gram's gaze, the expression in his eyes warring between fierce and abhorred.

"To remind you," she replies evenly. "Will you come now?"

He shudders. "Do I have a choice?"

"There is a choice. You could stay. With the Tree and its keeper."

Leonard's eyes flick over to the unusually silent man observing them. He almost thinks he should do exactly that—stay. Clearly this woman, this strange person (a beast after all?), has no qualm about causing him pain. Is she even trying to help him? He doesn't know.

"And if I stay?" Leonard asks softly, directing his question to the designated keeper of the Tree. "What happens to me then?"

The man bares his pointed teeth. "You become like me."

He tries to find the joke in the flat words. "Not literally, I hope!"

The man's chortle is sharp and high-pitched, a bird's whistle. He says, tinged with bitterness, "Do you think I was always this shriveled and ugly? That I wasn't a being such as you? Fool!" He turns away and scrambles up the great tree; a spiderweb of darkness seems to coalesce into oddly well-placed footholds to aid the ascent. Leonard shakes away the fanciful image in his mind, barely catching a warning as it echoes down to him, coupled with laughter:

_"Stay and become like me. Magic it gives and on magic it feeds, always taking, taking, taking from those who dwell in the Tree!"_

The singsong dies with a sudden rush of wind, and high above Leonard's head, the thinnest branches of the tree rattle. Leafless as they are, they twitch back and forth in an awkward dance, growing more violent as if they desire to become hands and swoop down to snatch someone up. Leonard, choice made, pushes himself away from his spot of repose between trunk and roots and forces his stiff legs to start walking. Gram follows at his heels, wordless, the perfect picture of obedience.

Leonard pauses to linger some safe distance away, at first in curiosity then to watch in disbelief as a strange transformation overtakes the solitary, ancient tree. Shafts of soft sunlight run straight through the stitchery of its branches, unmindful of the heavily shadowed boughs, until at last the light fades along with the grey oak, leaving an evening dusk to settle over an empty stretch of desert. Leonard wonders in that moment if the tree was ever truly rooted in reality, or simply a mirage he and the woman had conjured in passing.

After some minutes, he cannot help but ask, thinking of the squat, slightly ghoulish man who had vanished, "What was he?"

"Nothing," Gram murmurs. "A trader."

"But why did we stop there in the first place?" Leonard presses.

Her eyes fix on some destination only she can see. "To rest."

Leonard considers this, and how it sings of an untold truth. "I know there was another reason," he challenges her, determined to gain insight into his situation. "I'm trying to trust you, but I can't if you don't own up to a bit of the mystery."

"I needed to know," she explains, finally breaking the beat of silence between them, "about you."

Leonard waits for the rest.

"Trolls can smell dreams, even the dreams you dream before you are born. He would know the scent of yours and, as a trader, each dream's worth."

Only half of that explanation makes any sense to a rational man like Leonard McCoy, and even then it's too fantastical for him to believe. Leonard pinches the bridge of his nose and asks a question, one not quite sane to his ears but hoping perhaps it might make sense to her. "Why do my dreams matter to you?"

"Dreams," is her answer, "are everything. Without them, you would have died long before I found you."

* * *

"Mr. Spock!"

Lieutenant Jackson, a fellow scientist from Spock's department, crouches down and fishes something small and innocuous to the eye from between a cabinet and a wall. Upon inspection, the object proves to be what he suspected: a broken medical tricorder. Spock takes it with gentle fingers from his hand and holds it up to the light filtering through the window. They've already discovered Doctor McCoy's abandoned trunk of supplies overturned in an adjoining room, next to a neatly made cot.

_This isn't good at all, _ Jackson thinks. _The Captain will be livid when he finds out._

The scenario is obvious: there had been a struggle of some kind, which left the small facility designated as McCoy's workspace in shambles. The colonists hadn't even bothered to hide the evidence of the altercation. The only question left to answer is a frightening one: is the CMO alive or dead?

He looks to his commanding officer for further instructions. Mr. Spock, however, is unnervingly quiet, the dark set of his face unreadable and very alien.

"Sir," the young man says tentatively, softly, "shall we report to Captain Kirk now?"

Spock lowers the tricorder and returns it to Jackson. "You may do so at this time, Lieutenant" is his flat response. "I will continue to gather information. It is likely there will be a trial."

Which can only mean Spock fears the worst. Jackson can think of no comforting words, not for himself or the Vulcan who had, in many people's opinions including Jackson's, been a friend of Doctor Leonard McCoy.

Later, when he realizes how he had been thinking of Doctor McCoy in the past tense, he will berate himself it. Until found or declared dead, it isn't anyone's place to give up hope on one of the Enterprise's own. He can see the Captain feels the same way behind the stoicism with which he receives and accepts Jackson's blunt report of the remnants of McCoy's belongings that had been discovered—and of the unchanged fact that the location of McCoy himself is still unknown.

"You," Kirk tells the colonist that had escaped their grasp and led them to the children, who is currently under the watchful eyes of the security officer and has been playing at a stubborn silence, "will explain everything to me, or I am charging you with the abduction of a Starfleet officer."

That prompts the accused to speak. "We've done nothing wrong!"

Captain Kirk makes a sharp movement which is quickly repressed. Jackson observes the tremor in one of Kirk's fists and sympathizes that the man cannot simply punch the idiot. He isn't normally a violent person, but he would take a swing at the young man too. Why is this person so tight-lipped?

"My officer is missing," the Captain says in a no-nonsense tone that hints at a quiet fury. "Is he dead?"

The colonist pales and shakes his head wildly. "We're not responsible! We're trying to survive!"

"Explain."

"I-I can't tell you more. I can't."

Kirk paces like a tiger circling a cage. Jackson spares a glance for the children in the room, who are seated (still in pairs, how strange) on the floor and listening in rapt attention. Except, he notices, for one girl-child. Jackson eases into his Captain's path. "Sir," he murmurs, and tips his head in the girl's direction.

Kirk rounds on the colonist. "Is that your sister?" he asks mildly, indicating the child staring resolutely at the floor. "Perhaps she will tell us the story you are so reluctant to share."

The young man leaps away from the security officer the moment the Captain moves in her direction. "Don't!" he snaps in fear. "Leave her alone!"

Kirk says almost gently, "I can't do that. I must have answers."

Jackson notices the girl drags her knees to her chest in a basic instinct to shield herself. Does she think they are monsters of some kind like the children had automatically assumed of Mr. Spock? What is going on to create such a deep-seated fear of strangers?

The colonist draws his gaze from the quiet mouse-like child, a defeated look on his face. To Captain Kirk, he explains without preamble, "The doctor wasn't dead when I last saw him. He was nice, even, to my cousin—to all of the children. But it couldn't be helped, what we had to do. I'm sorry." His shoulders sag suddenly. "The man will be gone now. We cannot get him back."

"What do you mean 'gone'?" the Captain questions. "Where would he go? To another city, off-world?"

"To the Others."

"And who," a new voice asks, "are the Others?" Mr. Spock is a quiet shadow inside the doorway.

Jackson hadn't realized the First Officer was there. What surprises him even more is that none of the children scream again; in fact, one of them—the colonist's cousin—lifts her head and speaks for the first time. "It's my fault," she says sadly. "It was my turn and I was too afraid to go." She implores of the Vulcan, "Can't you ask Them to give him back? I won't be afraid anymore, I promise."

Spock steps into the room, and his dark eyes move from the child to the colonist, resting heavily upon the latter. "You spoke of a tithe. The doctor was the tithe." It isn't a question.

The colonist nods. "We thought... because of the man, the children could be spared. The doctor is fully grown; our tithe will be paid for seven years."

A horrified realization dawns in Captain Kirk's eyes. Jackson is certain it is identical to what must be apparent upon his own face. Paying a tithe… in people? What sort of barbaric culture is this? And why does it sound like Doctor McCoy is never coming back?

"Where did you take McCoy? " Kirk asks a final time.

Nervous but resigned, the young man confesses, "To the desert…Their home. "

* * *

**This is… not what I expected. I can't decide if I'm going to finish it.**


	4. Part Four

**Title**: The Desert Children (4/6)  
**Author**: klmeri  
**Fandom**: Star Trek TOS  
**Characters**: Kirk, Spock, McCoy  
**Summary**: Abandoned to a dire fate in the wilds, McCoy learns that every tale has a dark origin.

* * *

**I guess there isn't a good excuse to quit this fic after all! **

**I agree that gen TOS fic seems like a rarity these days. I myself like to play in the Reboot 'verse a lot, but occasionally I do return to the other half of the playground and the beloved original versions of our favorite characters. So... have some for more fic! I suspect the further we go, the stranger this story shall become. And sadly, it's a struggle every step of the way.**

* * *

**Part Four**

_nine days prior_

"Hello there, darlin'," McCoy says in a soft, coaxing voice to the next patient waiting to be seen. She comes to his side, a shy child. Leonard smiles at her, reminded of the shyness his own daughter around strangers at that age. "My name is Doctor McCoy," he introduces himself and holds up his medical tricorder. "Now, this little thing here won't hurt you a bit but I need you to stand still for me." He waves it over her chest, stares at it for a second, then turns the instrument around for her to look at. "See that screen and those numbers? That tells me a lot about the healthiness of your body."

He lets her inspect it, pleased that she isn't as afraid of him as some of the others. It hurts his heart to see a frightened child, who's shaking so badly his tricorder readings come back with an error message.

The girl-child returns the device to him with careful hands, perhaps afraid she might drop it. He asks her to sit down in the chair next to his then taps the tricorder with a finger. "This can tell me how your body might be feeling but that's not to say you don't feel something your body doesn't. I'd like to know how _you _think you feel right now. Is that okay?"

She considers him solemnly. "I don't hurt nowhere."

"No pain anywhere. That's good," McCoy agrees lightly. "What else? Do you feel happy a lot, or sad?"

"Don't know."

"Ah. How about angry, or maybe... afraid?"

Her gaze lowers; she swings her legs slightly, reaching down to touch the floor with the tips of her toes. She shrugs.

Leonard makes a _hmm_-ing noise. "You know how I'm feeling right now?"

She shakes her head dutifully.

"Nervous," he says.

Her mouth opens a little in surprise. "How come?"

"I always feel nervous in a new place." He pats her knee. "I like to think I'm a homebody but somehow I have a job where I travel to far-away places." He looks around. "Just like here. Do you know what's scariest about this place?"

Her eyes widen but she bites her lip, as if to stop herself from blurting out an answer.

Leonard pretends not to notice her hesitation. "I'm scared by that big man over there," he leans in to whisper, pointing at the statue-like person looming in a corner of the room. "He's mighty frightening-looking, don't you think?"

She scoots closer to whisper back, "That's Mr. Commander's bodyguard. He's supposed to look scary, 'cause it's his job to scare the bad Ones away."

"No kidding!" the doctor gasps. "You mean there are scarier people around than _him_?"

She nods fiercely. "Yes, sir, very bad!"

"Well," he grumps a little, "nobody warned me about that. Now I'm gonna be afraid to close my eyes at night!"

"I am," she confesses, worrying her lip again. "But Papa says I shouldn't be afraid to go to sleep because They cannot come into our houses unless we invite them in."

Leonard doesn't like the sound of that, or the fact most of the children he has spoken with have told him something similar about bad Ones, or Others, creatures that seem to hold a strange power over the colony. At first, the doctor had attributed this to one or two over-active young imaginations, or the result of an adult who likes to scare little children with horror stories, but now that it seems as though every child sincerely believes they have reason to be afraid... and Leonard is beginning to wonder if he too should be looking over his shoulder for monsters in the dark.

But the Others, or whatever they might be, do not explain the lack of disease in these children. Had the Starfleet report been a lie? But no, Leonard has been to see the grave markers for the children lost over the years. He's tried talking to the parents, only to be told he shouldn't bring up a painful past for the bereaved. Children _are _dying here but each day Leonard becomes more and more convinced the cause isn't medical. Which means somebody—or a group of people, maybe the entire colony, Leonard hasn't decided yet—wants to cover up what is really going on.

"Doctor McCoy?" his patient questions shyly, no doubt wondering about his silence.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he apologizes, "my mind wandered. I'm getting old, I guess."

"I know somebody lots older than you."

He lifts an eyebrow and tries to sound serious rather than amused. "Do you? And who would that be?"

"The Storykeeper! She's the oldest of all of us, and she knows _everything_." The child's eyes dart to the silent guard and back. Her voice drops to a hushed quality that has Leonard straining to catch her words. "She can tell you about the bad Ones. She talks to Them, and takes us..."

But the child draws back and does not finish her statement. Leonard is left slightly chilled. He thanks her with a nod and loudly declares that she is a fit young lady. Soon, as if the person had been waiting on the other side of the door, a young adult male eneters the small room with an expression of trepidation and leads the child away.

Leonard sighs and fiddles with a PADD designated for his medical log, waiting patiently for the next child waiting to be seen but none come. He rises from his chair and looks to the guard. "The rest?" he asks.

The guard moves stiffly through the door. He does not return; in his stead comes the man Leonard has no love for, the one the girl had named 'Mr. Commander.' In Leonard's opinion, the man definitely has the appearance of a commander who knows when to draw the hard line and how to keep an unruly platoon in order. However, the fact that he fixes such a look on McCoy is less than pleasing to the doctor, who does not consider himself to be required to answer to an authority other than Captain James Kirk.

"I've only seen a third of your children," McCoy begins, noting the set line of the man's shoulders, one which speaks of hostility.

"A third is enough," interrupts the Commander. "You should return to your ship, Doctor McCoy. As I stated before, we have no need for your assistance. The medical supplies will suffice."

Leonard puts his hands behind in his back in a mimic of a certain Vulcan then rocks on the balls of his feet, the heat of argument already adding color to his face. "Funny thing, Bob—can I call you Bob?"

"No."

"You see, Bob, I'm here for one reason—and that's to determine if you genuinely need our supplies or not." Just a tiny white lie, McCoy thinks. Jim wouldn't get mad at him for that! "Far as I can see, you don't," he ends bluntly.

The Commander is swift on his feet. Leonard doesn't expect to be the recipient of a jarring shove into his desk. His lower back protests sharply as it hits the desk's hard edge, and Leonard hears something break as it falls to the floor behind them. "Get your hands off me!" he snaps, shocked.

The hard-eyed man twists his fists into Leonard's Starfleet uniform. "You will NOT jeopardize my colony," the Commander says darkly. "Go back to your ship, McCoy, and tell them there's nothing you can do here to save us. Believe me when I say it won't be a choice you regret making."

He used the word 'colony', not people. That tells Leonard more than the man's threatening tone does. "And if I don't?" McCoy challenges.

"Then we'll find a use for you."

Leonard shoves an arm against the other man's chest in protest. "You think I can walk away? Are you a fool? There is something wrong here, and it's not a disease! _What are you doing to these children?_" He hadn't meant it to sound so accusatory but the sudden flash through the Commander's eyes hints that Leonard has struck at a truth.

Oh God, Leonard thinks, horrified, maybe the adults _are _responsible for the deaths of their children.

The doctor is released, and the Commander steps back, putting distance between them. Yet the dangerous air in the room does not abate; it seems to intensify, like a balloon swelling to the point of bursting. "Take him to the meeting hall," the Commander orders the two men who appear in the doorway. "Doctor Leonard McCoy of the starship Enterprise wants to help us, so help us he shall."

That sounds ominous enough that Leonard backs away from the grim-faced colonists and turns to sprint for the small side-room where his personal belongings are—and his communicator. It _would _be smart to call for an emergency beam-out. He shouldn't be here alone, he realizes too late; by himself, he cannot handle whatever this nefarious thing is hidden beneath the seemingly innocuous surface of a farmer's colony. But Leonard doesn't make it to his communicator, and the real fight begins. In the end, the doctor is overpowered by brute force. As the guards drag him from the facility and into the street, uncaring of how they've injured him, Leonard thinks of one, hopeless thing:

_Please let there be something left of me. Please, something at least, for my Captain to find._

* * *

_present_

"You're not taking me to your house," Leonard says conversationally.

"The desert is my home," his companion replies.

Of course. Leonard should have understood that distinction from the beginning. More the fool he is, he thinks. "So I'm doomed to wander across this hellish wasteland with you. That makes me feel much better," he remarks with only a nuance of dry humor.

Gram stops walking. She turns to him. The moonlight glints against her dark eyes, causing them to shine like polished black stones. "Leonard, I am the Guide."

"Guide," he murmurs and looks at her for a long moment before turning to survey the desert, which seems stuck in a loop between the edge of twilight and a new dawn. Leonard is certain, as many days as they have been traveling (it could be forever, couldn't it?), he hasn't seen a noon sun since he met the woman.

It finally occurs to him to ask, "What is this place?"

"A land that is of the earth but not, here and yet nowhere. It is our home," she finishes simply.

He has to argue with that. "Not mine." Leonard points to the sky. "My home is up there, and that's where I want to be."

Silence drifts between them until, inflection-less, she says, "I'm sorry." Then the woman resumes walking again, leaving Leonard to follow her while he ponders her apology.

* * *

Jim stares across the red-rusted sand with his heart in his mouth. "A week," he repeats slowly.

"Nine days," Spock corrects without his usual preciseness, perhaps as a mercy to them both.

Jim feels guilty enough over the sickening truth: McCoy has been wandering endless miles of desert for over a week. _He's dead _is his first flash of thought, searing like pain but entirely rational nonetheless.

_Don't let Bones be dead! _the rest of Jim cries in response.

Saying nothing of his fear to the men gathered around him, Jim Kirk turns to his First Officer. "I want the entire area scanned for signs of life. I don't care how far out they are."

"I relayed the orders to the Enterprise not long ago, Captain. Chekov will contact us with the results."

"And transportation," Jim adds, his gaze drawn back to an outline of red rock bluffs in the distance. "We need fast transportation and protection while we search."

"Shall we utilize the transporter?"

It's the best technology they have, but beaming back and forth within a short period of time will likely have ill effects on them. At least, that's what McCoy would say. Jim wrestles with a decision for a split second then relents. "If Chekov pinpoints a life-sign he believes to be McCoy, we will use the transporter. Finding our CMO is a top priority but I won't risk more of my men." _Bones wouldn't forgive me if I did, _he doesn't add.

Spock seems to follow his train of thought, regardless. "Understood, Captain." There's an almost hesitation from the Vulcan. "Should we request a guide from the colony? A native would be more familiar with the land."

"No." Jim's mouth thins into a line. "I don't trust them" is his only explanation.

That too his First Officer accepts without protest. "Lieutenant Uhura is due to arrive in approximately nine point three minutes. If she is successful in her task, she will uncover information we have not."

"I hope so, Spock. For McCoy's sake, I hope so."

Kirk doesn't think about the mess he had left behind at the colony. He doesn't let the visage of a cold-eyed man, the Commander these people name their leader, sneak into his mind's eye; nor does he follow the train of thought that if they cannot recover McCoy, that man is responsible for the death of not simply his officer, but his friend. There is no time to wallow over what Kirk cannot change, or feel terrible anger at the colonists' lack of cooperation. He has a single focus for himself, trusting his ship and his people to deal with the other details until he can return to them with a clear mind.

McCoy must be found, must be saved.

And if he cannot be saved, Jim owes the doctor the very basic of rights, to have his body returned to the Enterprise, to Earth for burial. Bones would want that, Jim knows. He would want his family and friends to have closure.

Jim is under no illusions. The loss of Leonard McCoy wouldn't be a trifling event to be endured, to regret and forget about, to move on from; Bones' death would hurt Jim deeply—and the Enterprise, he thinks, would be scarred most of all.

* * *

"Is that," Leonard asks, voice subdued with wonder, "a river?"

Gram merely touches his arm and urges him forward.

In the desert, twining like a shimmering-scaled snake through the earth, he can see the subtle ripple of the river's body. In the near-dark, its color is a complimentary midnight. When Leonard and his guide reach the river, the sand turns into red silt that tugs at his boots. Strangely enough, Leonard hears no trickle of water, no sound of lapping; the water is remarkably calm. He stares into the black surface, which is too dark to reflect more than an outline of the two people along its edge, and ponders if there could be life sneaking beneath what he can see.

Fish, perhaps. Leonard remembers then he hasn't eaten in a very long time, though the pangs of hunger have all but vanished.

He crouches down at the border between the desert and the river and touches the smooth, dark water. Distantly, the monotonous sound of the desert is broken by a soft splash.

"Is it safe to drink?" he wants to know. His carry pack doesn't contain a water testing kit, and his tricorder... gone. The bottle of captured rain is still halfway full because each swallow seems to quench his thirst for most of a day.

"The river is not safe," he is told. "We cannot cross here. Come, there will be a bridge."

Leonard means to stand up, he does, but something unexpected happens. A bluish light flickers in the depths of the river's center, tiny at first then growing in strength; when it reaches the surface, it forms into a glowing circle. As Leonard watches, the circle comes alive with an image of daytime, of the desert as he had seen it in the week of his painful travel. Red rocks to the east; in the sky a sun so hot it burns white in the water.

Except, it isn't the same vision, not quite. The desert, which should be empty, desolate...

"Jim!" Leonard whispers, gasping the name with his next breath.

The tiny image of the man, as if sensing Leonard's cry for him, stops walking. Jim turns to look behind him and is joined by a companion.

"Oh God," the doctor says upon seeing the unmistakable visage of Spock. His hand goes to his forehead but he knows he isn't suffering from heat stroke. He hasn't been hot in days.

Jim is talking to Spock, indicating an outcropping of rock. Leonard watches, captivated, as Spock inspects his tricorder, so familiar a gesture. The image is vividly real, like a mirror's reflection of a live video feed. Suddenly, the aching in McCoy is fierce. He _wants _to be with them. What is the point of this mindless traveling? He doesn't belong in this other-worldly desert; no, he is part of that one.

The one with Jim and Spock in it.

Another splash comes again, not so distant, and in its wake is a gentle wave stirring the water; the image blurs for only a moment. Leonard realizes the figures upon the river's surface are moving away (his Captain and the Vulcan, his friends, the thought curls through his mind), soon to leave the image entirely, and he cannot let them go without him. His fingers reach out, trembling, to cross the chasm separating them but he is too far away. Without thinking, Leonard wades into the river, unmindful of a growl of warning behind him.

The image brightens then, shifting, a palette of lively colors upon a black canvas. For Leonard, it is a siren's call. He would go to it, sink into the water mindlessly, except a hand has caught the fabric of his shirt. Leonard stumbles when he is wrenched backwards.

"Leonard!" Gram calls sharply in his ear. "Do not take that way. Come." She is leaning out over the river; her feet dig into the sand as she reels him in like a fish.

And like a fish that doesn't want to leave its home, Leonard fights her.

"No! They're here!" he cries, not even knowing where this desperation is coming from, only that he feels it keenly. "Let me go to them!"

"Leonard!"

He wails upon seeing that the image has disappeared. The water quakes around him. "N-No," he chokes, "come back!"

As if hearing his plea, light glints deep within the river again, coming toward him. He strains against the strong grip on his shirt and throws out his arm. But the image doesn't reform on the surface. A person takes shape in its place; liquid seal eyes, a feminine mouth, long drifting hair made from bluish light. It rises out of the water, a pale, moon-blurred face belonging to a slim body. Those arms lift invitingly to Leonard, fingers coiled with weeds, loose and dripping black river water like ink.

He cannot think, only stand shivering in water nearly to his hips. The river woman's smile says she understands his need; she can give him everything he desires if he will simply follow her to the river's bed.

Snarling behind him. Nails, sharp like claws, dig into the flesh of his back. The river woman bobs in the water, floats closer to touch him; her smile is gentle, sweet, beckoning.

Something bites hard into Leonard's shoulder then, and the pain of it is like a slap. He pitches backward at the same time the river woman, suddenly shrieking, launches herself at him, her mouth opened wide to display unnaturally long teeth. With new clarity, he sees the river woman for what she truly is—no, _it _is. It isn't human, or beautiful, or anything he would want to get close to without a weapon in his hand. The creature nearly catches his leg in its dive but misses. Leonard, splashing down into a heap at the river's edge, sees something darkly furred and long-snouted snap its jaws over his head. In fear, he scrambles up the river's bank on his hands and knees, only turning around once he is safely away. His shoulder stings where he was bitten.

The river is smooth again; its monster gone. So is the other thing, the one Leonard had glimpsed from the corner of his eye.

"Gram, what was that?" he whispers.

The answer is there: _selkie. _Somehow the name, belonging to the river creature, comes to him, startling and bright and dangerous—knowledge he has never before had. He shudders, bombarded by a vision of his fate if the woman, his guide, hadn't refused to him give over to the water-spell. How many bodies, how many bones, lie at the heart of the river?

"Thank you," he says to her, hating that no other words can express the depth of his gratitude and sincerity.

Crouching next to Leonard, the woman's eyes do not linger on him and move past, unreadable. Her face, furless but animal-like, points to a path by the river, a path McCoy thinks hadn't been there before. "Come," she says. "The bridge is ready."

It is some minutes before Leonard can get up, thinking of little else except that he has fallen into a place he may never be able to leave, and she waits rather than forcing him to his feet. At last he lifts his wet, chilled body from the sand, ready to move on. It occurs to him later the path they walk isn't visible to the eye but all the same he recognizes it. Something has changed in him, is changing as they travel. With each step that brings them closer to their destination, he gains one thing, something unearthly in knowledge or ability or feeling, and loses another.

It's the loss that frightens Leonard most, because he knows now without a doubt that he is less human than he used to be.

* * *

**So... is Leonard's guide a friend or foe?**


	5. Part Five

**Title**: The Desert Children (5/6)  
**Author**: klmeri  
**Fandom**: Star Trek TOS  
**Characters**: Kirk, Spock, McCoy  
**Summary**: Abandoned to a dire fate into the wilds, McCoy learns that every tale has a dark origin.  
**Previous Parts**: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

* * *

**Part Five**

_eight days prior - the beginning of the desert journey_

It almost seemed democratic. The colonists were allowed to vote, so the Commander said. They could choose as their hearts bade them to, and no neighbor would fault them for their decision.

Yet no one dared raise his hand or speak out against the proposal. In the end, Leonard's fate was unanimous, whether out of choice or fear. They had bound him so he couldn't run and covered his mouth so he couldn't speak. Otherwise there would have been one protestor, one vote against it—his.

{~~~}

None of the adults at the meeting hall will look Leonard in the face as he is escorted outside to a waiting vehicle. No one cares about the blood soaking his pants leg where a guard had cut into him with a crudely made knife—iron-wrought, he thinks, but badly forged, mayhap because nobody on the colony has the skills of a blacksmith.

{~~~}

_"Tell us, Storykeeper,"_ the Commander had demanded only moments ago, before he took the vote, speaking with authority that rang louder than a shout. _"How many years will this man buy our people?_"

An old woman, eyes dark in a weathered face, had looked upon Leonard from the side of the crowd, seated in a wooden chair that rocked slightly as she moved. McCoy had been forced to kneel and keep his head down but he had snuck glances at her, seeing the moment she had passed some secretive judgment upon him. _"This man will pay a full tithe,"_ she had pronounced. _"Seven years."_

People had gasped then and murmured amongst themselves. That, it seemed, was all they needed to hear in order to decide Leonard should be dumped into the desert and left to fend for himself.

{~~~}

Woozy from pain and blood loss but full of hot anger too, Leonard refuses to bow under the Commander's hard gaze as he is shoved into a craft used for transporting of crops, akin to a open-sided wagon. They tie his bindings to a side railing so he cannot escape over the edge or fight the men accompanying him to his destination. The Commander comes to stand beside the craft and gives Leonard a long, unreadable look. "Your sacrifice shall not be forgotten, Doctor McCoy," he says at last. "For seven years, our families will be grateful to you." He adds as a careless afterthought, "The children especially."

Maybe that thought makes the Commander feel better about whatever atrocity the colony has decided to commit against Leonard McCoy. It only infuriates Leonard further, however. He makes certain that the man can see the contempt and the lack of forgiveness in his eyes.

Without another word, the Commander slaps the side of the craft. Someone places a sack over Leonard's head, and the craft lurches forward under a silent guidance. Leonard feels it rolling down a street, destined for somewhere far beyond the settlement. He is almost grateful he cannot watch the colony become a hazy point on the horizon, but even if he could it wouldn't add to his already raw and deep sense of betrayal.

* * *

_present_

No one challenges their crossing of the bridge, for which Leonard is both grateful and slightly surprised. He had expected someone—or a creature, rather—to jump out of the darkness beneath it, perhaps to demand the payment of a toll before they were allowed to pass, or something equally ridiculous wherein Leonard was in danger of being eaten. Instead, only the quiet noise of the desert night greeted them as they strode across the bridge's uneven grey stones, leaving Leonard's wild imaginings to flicker and die out like an unfed flame.

The encounters thus far have not been entirely benign, Leonard muses, not even when he sat beneath the Tree while time spun away from him and a troll tasted the wisps of his dreams. Despite that they make it to the opposite side of the river unscathed, he should never let down his guard. Expect the unexpected and, above all else, figure out a way—

His thoughts abruptly end as the fog waiting at the foot of the bridge clears and Leonard has his first glimpse of the land. It's changed, as if he has stepped into an entirely different place. In astonishment, McCoy glances over his shoulder at the landscape behind him. Beyond the outline of the bridge, he can see the twilight backdrop of the desert from whence they had come; yet before him is a picturesque world made of vivid green hills dotted with forest, soft light, and sweet-smelling foliage. The difference between two (why wasn't this visible from the other side of the river?) is so striking to Leonard that he supposes, like in a fairy tale, he has crossed some perilous land to find a kingdom.

"What happened to the desert?" he asks Gram, unable to think of a better question.

She studies the open wonder in his face. "We have farther yet to go, Leonard."

He bites his lip. "If I said I wanted to go back?" Which is better: this complete unknown or the mysteries he had grown used to in the desert?

Gram touches his shoulder lightly, capturing his attention, and points to the bridge, which is suddenly much more distant than it had been a moment ago, as if it's fading. "The borderlands are closed to us now."

His heart pounds and he spins around, only to find that every sense of a path is gone. "Gram!"

Perhaps the alarm in his voice is enough to move her to sympathy. "Leonard," she says his name gently, gravely. "Holding on to what has passed while not prepare you for what is to come."

"But this isn't—isn't the desert! My friends will look for me in the desert!" He feels panic rising and closes his eyes, thinking frantically of how he might keep it at bay.

_What the heck does Spock do? Probably use some meditative mind-trick._ Then, after a short burst of unsteady laughter, _Damn it, you're a doctor, Leonard, not a Vulcan. Get a grip!_

So he does what he would make any patient on the verge of hyperventilation do. He squats and puts his head between his knees. But while his breathing evens out after some minutes but the questions don't stop flooding his mind.

_How can I be on the same planet as the colony?_

_How am I going to get back?_

_What if I can't?_

_What happens to me now?_

Standing next to him, Gram's silence is as unpromising as his future. No one can provide him with the answers, Leonard realizes. He is completely, utterly on his own.

* * *

The search party is on its third rotation of officers, several of them volunteers. One of McCoy's nurses from Medical had wanted to come down to be available when they found McCoy, and since then there has always been one medical officer with the search party at all times. Yet even the CMO's brilliantly trained, hard-headed staff cannot endure the heat of the desert overly long.

Jim wipes at the sweat on his forehead and accepts a canteen of water from a young security lieutenant. He grimaces when a nurse approaches him, a hypospray in hand, but makes no protest as she injects him with a cocktail of nutrients and vitamins to replenish his tired body. Several times he has thought of how McCoy would bully him into going back to the ship, or at least into finding some shade to rest every hour or so.

No one dares mention the suggestion to him.

Well, that's not entirely true. Spock, who has no doubt a good idea of his Captain's endurance, has been eyeing him for the last quarter-hour. Soon enough, the First Officer is going to call Jim out on his refusal to quit the search and return to the Enterprise, if only to have his sunburned skin treated. They both know Spock need only say the word, assume command, and Jim wouldn't have a leg to stand on to stop him.

Spock turns away, perhaps to pretend he isn't aware of Jim's gaze, and looks at his tricorder. Of all the men and women involved in the search, Spock is the only one who seems unaffected by the glaring sun and the occasional stinging, sand-laden wind. Then again, considering his home world, Jim knows he shouldn't be surprised. It's possible Spock even thinks this is pleasant weather.

An officer looks at Jim askance when he chuckles so Jim suppresses any other humorous thoughts. Truly, there is no place for amusement right now. McCoy has yet to be found—which is only causing Jim to grow more agitated—and they have barely covered one-sixth of the land. The sun is ready to set and though they can still search by night, it means Leonard has been in the desert for ten days.

_Bones_, Jim sends out his wish, his hope, _don't give up. We will find you._

He releases a breath and washes his face clear of the hardships of their first day's trek with the water from the small canteen. Buoyed by a fresh wave of resolve, Jim feels ready to resume the hunt.

* * *

Their destination, Leonard can now see, is a massive structure set far back in a sea of trees. When he asks Gram what it is, she names it as the Hall. No other title precedes it, or explains it, or indicates ownership. The Hall is, like everything else around them, simply another fixture of the land. What he will find there to explain this journey, Leonard cannot imagine.

Leonard stops walking and turns to his right, observing the trees looming closest to him. Not for the first time, his eyes catch a rushed movement, like the dart of a small animal, through the greenery. Between one heartbeat and the next, a shadow lingering about two entangled bushes coalesces into a fox-shaped face with large, serious eyes. But the face quickly dissolves into shadow again, and Leonard cannot be certain of what he has seen.

He and Gram follow a well-trodden road of dirt and loose leaves curving through a quiet forest. He is mindful not to step into the trees around them; it would be easy to become as lost in the pathless trees as he had been in stretches of open desert.

Soon, the tall forest gives way to a small grove of birches, crowded closely together. As they enter the grove, Leonard's eyes seem to develop a different kind of perception, so sharp and clear, focused enough that the swaying birch limbs appear to be greeting him. At his temples, a pressure forms but no ache.

He glances at Gram, intending to ask her if he alone feels strange, and is taken aback by the change in her appearance. In this world of leaf and light, she seems shriveled and old, misplaced. Her fingers are like twigs, knobby, but still clawed. Perhaps it is the clarity of day that lifts some of the mystery from her, but a part of Leonard whispers knowingly this is not her place, her home. Of course it would be no kinder to her than it would be to him. She is of the desert and he, of another realm entirely.

Then Gram turns fathomless eyes to Leonard, and his worry slips away. There is still power within her, as subdued as it may seem. How strange—he never thought he would be take comfort in knowing that. But the truth is she remains his only protection as well as his only guide.

The wind whistles by his ear suddenly, carrying a giggle, just as they reach the center of the grove. Within the circle of trees, something moves.

No, not simply something, Leonard realizes, but the forest itself, shifting to wakefulness. Leaves and bark turn into faces, hands, hair. They open earthen eyes within a green-brown canopy and stare at him. Though their tall, swooping forms mimic the ancientness of the land, Leonard recognizes the youth trapped in their eyes.

He swallows against a knot of surprise, knowing instinctively without asking who the tree spirits are. "The lost children," he names them, listening to the curious rustling of leaves.

"Yes." Gram watches them too, but with a reserved interest.

Suddenly anger burns hot in Leonard's belly. "Why are they here, Gram?" he asks darkly.

"They came to us. Gifts from the settlers."

"Parents don't just give up their children!"

Her eyes are steady upon him, not chastening but neither do they hint at remorse. He finds himself once again loathing her silence and the easy way it slips beneath his skin to nettle at him. Gently, carefully, Leonard turns aside a precious memory before it can blossom, the reminder of someone else who wields silence with a double edge.

As quickly as it comes, his anger is spent. His head gives a slow, tired shake of denial. "You didn't bring me all the way here to show me this, Gram. You don't expect me to help them, either," he adds more quietly. That latter knowledge is bitter on his tongue, like a sour berry he might have plucked from a nearby bush.

_I don't want to see this if I can't save them, _the doctor realizes. It's a horrible thought, but also true.

The tree children watch him wonderingly, sleepily, for a long time. Finally their hands settle back into leaves, their eyes close, faces fading into lines of bark, and the children return to their dreaming. Something wet falls onto the back of Leonard's hand, a raindrop or a tear, and he watches it slide to the ground. The earth soaks it up greedily.

"Leonard," Gram murmurs, her desert's voice reduced to a sigh of wind.

Wiping his cheek, he turns and sees that she is holding a plain, un-engraved cup. The metal of it—silver, he thinks—is cold against his hands. The liquid inside is clear. Water? He lifts it with an unspoken question.

Her eyes are carefully blank.

Rather than giving in to the temptation for a swallow, he carries the cup to one of the birches and feeds its roots, thinking of how this is the least he can do—even if it is a futile gesture—to keep the children alive. Turning back, he spies Gram already weaving her way through an open passage in the grove. Leonard, after a moment's thought, sets the cup on the ground and follows her.

* * *

"Captain."

The tone of voice is subtly pitched in a way that sends a shiver down Jim's spine. He unerringly goes to his first officer's side, a demand to know what is going happening alight in his face. "Spock?"

Spock lowers his communicator. "Lt. Chekov has identified what he believes to be a... mass in approximate size to McCoy."

A mass? _A mass? _There is only one reason the Vulcan would phrase the information so cautiously.

He cannot bring himself to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. Instead Jim orders "Transport us to the coordinates."

"Yes, Captain," the Vulcan says, face unnervingly schooled against emotion.

Jim attempts to school his own face in a similar manner, never mind that his heart is pounding unhappily in his chest and a terrible feeling is waiting to expand, to consume him. Within seconds, the familiar skittering along his skin says they are dissolving into particles, moving with amazing speed and accuracy to a new destination. It's amazing how, in that one moment, he doesn't have to think, to feel or, more importantly, to grieve. But then that second is over.

* * *

Gram leads McCoy into an outer garden belonging to the Hall hidden behind hedges that have grown into massive pillars. Flowerbeds lay unkempt, weeds playing neighbor to an assortment of lilies and delicate, white blooms. Beneath the sweet scents, Leonard picks out an underlying rot of wood and leaves. He passes by a statue holding a long curved horn, thinking it might be feminine in form beneath the entrapment of vines.

The Hall itself is wild without a keeper. As its garden is heavy with thorns, the building, crosshatched by high walls and climbing roofs, wards off visitors with an unwelcoming presence—not so derelict to be ramshackle but full of visible snares. There is a stirring close by, and for a brief moment Leonard catches sight of the narrow face from the forest, shadowed and unsmiling, through a spray of nodding rose heads.

"Leonard," Gram calls softly. She lifts a cup, this time golden rather than moon-silver, and places it on a flat stone which an endless flow of centuries has naturally weathered into a seat. "If you wish to see" is all she explains of its purpose.

Leonard smells the richness of earth just before he takes the cup. A feeling strikes him: the cold, dark, swift plunge into memory, a heaviness seeping into his limbs. All that is colorful and vibrant, saturated with life, suddenly becomes worthless, pointless, nothing he could want.

He closes his eyes with a shuddering "No, thanks."

Gram's silence could have a chill of meaning or no meaning at all; Leonard endures it, wanting not simply to be far away but out of this otherworld and returned to his own.

He hears an odd sound, the clink of cup against stone, or perhaps a surprised word turning metallic before it falls to the ground. When Leonard opens his eyes, the golden cup is gone and, for the first time since their meeting, so is Gram.

* * *

Finger bones, picked clean, are a stark white contrast in a background of red. Jim notices them first.

A carrion-eater, fat and feathered, gives the search party a long look before it lumbers into the sky, letting loose an aggravated cry for a meal interrupted. A torn strip of a cloth flaps lazily in a breeze before the wind's insistent tugging frees it from a shrub's thorns and sends it drifting away.

Jim's legs are frozen. It takes two tries before they carry him forward. The closer he gets to the body, the more gruesome the sight. And the smell of dead flesh baked by the sun is overwhelming. Jim's stomach gives one nauseous turn.

Spock circles in the opposite direction. The Vulcan hands are bloodless where they grip his tricorder. He silently gleans what information he can from his instrument.

The medical officer currently teamed with their search party turns his face away from everyone, a hand to his mouth and nose; he doesn't approach the body. Jim finds he cannot blame the young man in the least, wishing he could do the same. Instead, knowing his duty, the Captain of the Enterprise walks to the opposite side of the corpse and kneels by its head. A grin, unpleasantly rictus, greets him like the dead man would be laughing at Jim if he could.

"Captain." Spock has finally circled around to stand by him.

"Is it…?" he asks softly, without defining the full question. Between them, he doesn't need to.

Spock's answer surprises him. "It is not human, Jim."

He rocks back on his heels, glancing up at the Vulcan before settling a scrutinizing gaze on the body again. "Then why," Kirk wants to know, pointing at a stained emblem on the shirt stretched over a prominent ribcage, "is he dressed like a Starfleet officer?"


	6. Part Six

**Title**: The Desert Children (6/6)  
**Author**: klmeri  
**Fandom**: Star Trek TOS  
**Characters**: Kirk, Spock, McCoy  
**Summary**: Abandoned to a dire fate into the wilds, McCoy learns that every tale has a dark origin.  
**Previous Parts**: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

* * *

**There are endings and beginnings, and sometimes they flow so smoothly together, we barely recognize the transition from one to the other. This Part Six is an ending of sorts and is in fact the end of The Desert Children for the simple fact we may not see the real world for quite some time. That said, there is a second half to McCoy's journey which I will continue to ponder.**

** FYI, I'm picking and choosing some of the things I've loved most from my favorite fairy tale/fantasy authors to share with you and wrapping them up in a slightly convoluted story. Nothing is truly original with fairy or folk tales but there are reasons we speak of them time and time again. :)**

* * *

**Part Six**

"Let me tell you a story," begins the soft voice of an elderly woman. A crone, some might call her in secret, who is wise to the world through her many years of life.

Lieutenant Uhura settles on a bench near the Storykeeper. Many of the colony's young children follow suit, arranging themselves at the feet of the young woman, clearly as eager to hear a tale as they are to stay close to Uhura. Their fears have all but vanished since her arrival. To them, with her dark skin, beautiful eyes, and melodic voice, Uhura is the face of those who are kind, fair folk. They love her.

Uhura surreptiously sets her tricorder to record and then tucks the smallest child, a boy the age of five, into her lap. She is ready to listen to every word of the Storykeeper's, who has, Uhura discovered, the most valuable knowledge of any of the colonists. Many would be deterred by the Storykeeper's preference to speak in fables or strange riddles but in truth, this is the kind of challenge Uhura loves. So many things can be said within words; and Uhura has made it her life's study to recognize the different shapes to every story.

The Storykeeper rocks in her chair, her eyes fixed unseeing on a doorway across the room. "Long ago, there was a race of people who roamed freely. From the desert to the mountains to the seas, everything was theirs. They loved this world, and it loved them in return."

This story is an often-repeated tale among the colonists. The boy in Uhura's lap hugs her arm, eyes wide and his little heart picking up speed. Uhura whispers a comfort in his ear and his fear quiets.

Against the far wall, two adults mutter to each other. _See how woman enchants them,_ they are saying. _How long do we let our children trail after her, oblivious to all except her piped piper's call? _The distrust in their eyes is far from hidden.

"But the world changed, as is its fickle nature. It took their homes and forests with fire and boiled their rivers and seas. The people were certain to perish, and they prayed to the Hills to save them, for in the Hills lived gods to whom they paid each season's tribute. They feared the gods would not hear them because the world shook the Hills, great mounds of grass and stone, and crumbled them one by one. So they gathered at the last Hill, the tallest and oldest of them all, and beat upon its doors with their fists. One of the gods came out of the Hill, which was not merely a temple of the gods but a portal to an other-world which shadowed this one."

"Shadows, not mirrors," the young girl leaning against Uhura's leg murmurs. "That's important. The Storykeeper told me that once."

"Through the Hill the gods would come to watch the people and their world change, envious because they could not change themselves. But that is another tale for another time." The Storykeeper makes a thoughtful noise, rocking back and forth. She turns her unseeing eyes to the children. "Where was I?"

"The people were scared, and a god came to save them!"

"Yes. So they were and so she did. They begged her to save them. They gave her a crown of white thorn and dying roses, and promises of loyalty. In their fear, the people had forgotten the rule: once part of her world, there would be no way out again, except by walking the path of sorrow. Or perhaps they did remember and simply did not care. She let them in, accepting both the wild magic they had given her and their fealty, and since that time she has been their queen. It is said those people have lived so long in the Otherworld they cannot remember their old lives. The Queen keeps their names with her always, refusing to return them, though this world is ready for the living again."

The Storykeeper pauses and tilts her head slightly toward Uhura.

Uhura asks her question, unnerved that the old woman knew she had a question to ask. "Did one of the Hills survive?"

"No. They were eaten by the world." She smiles. "But there are ways, other passages. The Queen still walks here when she wishes, always seeking youth and dreams and dying wishes to sustain her power."

The children whimper, some of them crying, "But, Storykeeper, we don't want Her to come back!"

"It is the way," the woman says gently, closing her eyes as though she is drifting to sleep. "When it is time for the Hunt, hide well, my children. Leaf has no words, nor does dark. Become both, if you can. Only then will you remain safe from Them."

Uhura instinctively tightens her hold on the boy in her lap, feeling cold settle into her very bones. The children absorb the Storykeeper's advice with faces too sad and serious for their ages. Unbidden, in her mind's eye Uhura sees great dark steeds streaming past, moonlight reflected in their fiery eyes and in the eyes of their silver-haired riders. Flowing after them are dry rivers of leaves from tiny trees, waiting for the Hunt to pass them by.

An older girl stands up and leans her head against Uhura's shoulder. "Don't cry," she whispers. "Should we ask for another story?"

Wiping away her tears, Uhura composes herself and nods resolutely. What other secrets lie buried in these people's words?

* * *

Leonard picks his way through the garden, beyond an archway covered in thorns, to the crumbling steps of the Hall. Around him, flowering trees shed blooms like confetti, coloring eddies of wind in pinks and reds. He does not let the beauty move him, not even the strange allure of the wild vines and weeds, and mounts the steps.

The season of the land is late summer but winter has invited itself into the Hall. Leonard shivers, running his hands along his arms, surprised to be struck so keenly by the cold.

The place is a maze of long passageways, cold hearthstones, ragged tapestries, and un-swept floors. But despite its emptiness, there is an eerie feeling of activity in the wind funneling through the corridors, as if the Hall is bustling with invisible people, hurrying to and fro, communicating, and living their lives with no thought for an intruder like Leonard. If Leonard stays still long enough, the whispers of voices ensnared in cobwebbed doorways try to break free. So he moves on.

A nest of owls eye him querulously from the rafters of a ballroom before returning their attention to a mouse skirting a wall. Something has built a small cottage of bones in a kitchen corner. A ubiquitous shape flows around a door. Leonard searches until he finds a winding staircase, hoping it belongs to one of the towers jutting skyward at the Hall's four corners. From the highest point he will be able to see the lay of the land and, if he is lucky, the bridge which had brought him here. He needs to find it again now that Gram has disappeared, perhaps even abandoned him.

He is beginning to forget, when he lets his guard down, why he does not want to linger in this otherworld. Things were simpler, Leonard thinks, when he was dying in the desert. Following Gram was a terrible mistake.

The stairs circle stories high, opening onto a battlement rather than at the head of a tower. Gripping at a crumbling wall of stone, Leonard steps to the edge of the battlement and skims a dark-green sea of forest. The world is painted in shades of brown and green, interspersed with other spots of color. He sees no visible roads or settlements; no rivers. If there is no river, there is likely no bridge. Leonard swallows against fear and moves to each side of the battlement, only to find the same landscape in every direction.

"What now?" he asks himself, sinking miserably against a wall. He bends down to pick up a dislodged stone and, after weighing it in his hand, turns to throw it as far as he can over. Tracing its arch through the air, it is only then Leonard notices one of the spots of color moving across the grounds.

Not simply moving, he realizes, but waving to catch his attention. The color—a man?—might be tossing words back to him like stones but Leonard cannot hear them over the wind and the pounding of his heart. He plunges down the staircase again, tripping once but catching himself before his plunge becomes a painful fall to the stairs' end.

Discovering a way out of the Hall is not difficult, as every room seems open to the outside, yet Leonard finds himself lost in his surroundings. "I'm here!" he shouts, determined to completely circle the Hall if needed.

"Oh good," someone says at his back.

Leonard twirls around to find a colorful stranger smiling at him, holding a top hat between his hands and wearing a cloak that billows like a sail.

"You must be Doctor McCoy. I am Sir Rowan." The stranger bows slightly from the waist. Sunlight produces an odd flash of fire coming from the man's eyes.

Magic, Leonard thinks, startled. Then he amends that: spectacles. "How did you—" He halts that question for another. "Can you take me back?"

Rowan laughs. "Can I? I could, yes." His mouth quirks faintly and his leaf-colored eyes inspect Leonard. "But you ask the wrong questions, Doctor."

"No," Leonard snaps, starting forward, "we aren't playing that game!"

The man disappears before Leonard can take a hold of him. Blinking in surprise, Leonard is slow to turn around when Sir Rowan exclaims, reappearing behind him, "Surely you do not propose violence against my person!"

"I, I," McCoy fumbles. What had he intended to do? "No, not violence. Why would I want to hurt you?"

Rowan glances around with a grave air. "Some do not take well to change." He looks over Leonard again, more slowly this time, and places his hat on his head. "Shall we continue your journey, Doctor?"

"Only if that means you're taking me back."

"What a humorous person you are." Rowan whistles, sharp and low. A small creature bounds out of a rosebush—a fox, who grins widely at them before it leaps away. The man adjusts the folds of his cloak. "Do I look foolish?" he wants to know. "I must admit, it has been too long since I performed this sort of task. I am not considered, in general, mysterious enough to be a Guide but our numbers dwindle with every century and, well, we must all contribute our part, mustn't we? I borrowed the attire from an acquaintance. Since he's, shall we say, _dead_, I doubt he minds."

Leonard only makes sense of half of that and doesn't want to know about the rest. "Was your friend a magician?"

"Acquaintance." Rowan looks smug. "Ah, magic! How very suitable." He sobers slightly, though his amusement is as discernible as his eye color. "And the name? Is it foolish also?"

"Sir Rowan isn't your real name?"

He slants an unreadable look at Leonard and answers his own question. "It fits well enough, given what I am."

"God help me," Leonard mutters, "the man thinks he's a tree."

Rowan laughs, a great bark like a thunderclap. Around them, the sky darkens suddenly with heavy clouds and the trees shudder, dropping leaves. The strange man stares at Leonard with energy crackling in his eyes. "This will be intriguing for us both, I can tell."

Leonard is not assured. "Where's Gram?" He would rather deal with her long silences than this man's penchant for saying too much.

Sir Rowan waves away the question as unimportant, swinging around and stalking toward a wooded hill. "She offered you the gift of clear-sight, which you forfeited—how silly of you, Doctor, really—and that was against the rules. She won't return. Good riddance too—annoying and nasty, most borderland dwellers are." His smile has a sharp edge. "Yet you obviously survived the encounter."

Confused, Leonard argues as he follows, "She wasn't that bad."

"I suppose she decided not to waste effort on a scrawny meal."

"You're insulting," McCoy states flatly.

"Yes I am," agrees his newest companion. "Now Red there," he points to the fox digging a hole under a berry bush. "He prefers to bite rather than insult. Do be careful of his temper."

Leonard almost grasps at his hair in frustration. "Are you mad? I don't understand this! Why are you here? _Why am I here?_"

The man's eyes glitter behind his lens. "Truly, you do not know? Allow me to enlighten you then: you've passed from the earthly realm to this one. The path you travel now will reveal what must be done with you."

Leonard comes to a halt. "I'm... dead?"

Rowan's shrug is both enigmatic and uncaring. "If the shoe fits. But I don't recommend trying on the glass slipper. If it isn't yours, it will cut you when it breaks. Everyone forgets that part, too enamored of their dreams."

Leonard stopped listening after the first sentence. "I'm not dead," he tells himself. No, he isn't dead. He doesn't remember dying. But the golden cup... he had touched it and felt dark memories, knowledge his heart did not want.

What had Gram offered to show him? A terrible truth?

"Doctor!" Rowan calls. "Come now!"

The familiar echo of the command is easy to obey. Leonard finds his legs moving without his agreement. Nearby the fox, Red, skips into the open grass, a tiny tail of a mouse or a mole hanging from the side of his mouth. His sly eyes watch Leonard as he gives one smacking swallow; then the tail is gone.

As they enter the woods, a storm breaks over the Hall and drenches the world in grey. Leonard hesitates at the woods' edge. Behind him is a maelstrom; before him, an impenetrable dark looming under a canopy of trees. Rowan's eyes glow as forest shadows pick at their clothing, waiting for Leonard to decide. Sighing, Leonard chooses, and Rowan seems pleased as McCoy steps fully into the trees.

* * *

Jim is unable to sleep. He abandons his makeshift cot in one of the tents they had pitched and circles to the edge of camp. A security officer on guard duty acknowledges him briefly then allows the Captain privacy to think. He settles into a wide-set stance, arms folded, and idly enjoys the breeze ruffling the hair at the nape of his neck while his thoughts untangle themselves from a stew of hard reality and soft emotions.

Far beyond the camp, in the dark of the desert, a keen rises into a howl. For an instant, all thinking stops and a chill walks the length of Jim's spine. The sound comes again, seconds later, from a different direction.

"Captain."

A quietly spoken voice draws Jim's attention. Spock's tall, straight figure separates itself from a shadow of a tent.

Jim greets the Vulcan with a nod of his head and they fall into a companionable silence. At the third howl, broken into a series of yips, Jim ponders its owner. "A coyote?"

"Doubtful," Spock replies. "There is no record of a species relative to the _canidae _indigenous to your Earth."

"Then what would you suggest is howling at the moon, Spock?"

Spock is silent for a moment. "Records can be lacking."

Jim chuckles darkly. "I would say so." Certainly there is no record of a race called the Others, but the colonists believe wholeheartedly in their existence. Jim wonders what else exists on this planet that it is impervious to his human senses, or is simply adept at hiding from him.

He sighs slowly, feeling an invisible weight on his shoulders. The question which has been hurting his heart all day is suddenly the monster looming between them. "Are we making a mistake, Spock? It's... likely that McCoy is dead by now. The desert sun alone is enough to kill a man."

"You think the body is the doctor's," Spock concludes, tone inflection-less.

Almost angry, as though Spock has accused him of giving up, Jim retorts, "What else am I to assume, Mr. Spock? The clothes are McCoy's. The blood on them—McCoy's."

"I gave you my analysis, Jim."

Jim pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm not doubting your analysis, Spock. I—" _I am afraid, _ he doesn't finish, suppressing a shudder. _A scientific analysis cannot explain everything. I just want to know if I need to bury my friend._

Spock talks quietly, summarizing points of rationale Jim has already memorized by heart. Jim isn't certain who of the two of them the Vulcan intends to convince with his argument.

"The rate of decomposition suggests the person has been deceased for, at minimum, sixty-three solar days. Discounting its appearance, the body itself does not correlate to what we know as fact, Captain. I cannot accept—"

"Spock," Jim interrupts gently. "I know."

The Vulcan retreats into silence again. Jim struggles with what he wants to say to his friend, wondering if there is anything consoling to be said. He settles on "Hope is our strongest motivation. When we lose hope, we lose McCoy."

Hypocrisy burns at the back in his throat, and Jim vows silently not to make himself into a liar. McCoy deserves unyielding faith. After all, how often has Bones driven his body to exhaustion to battle death on their behalf in an operating room, never giving up, never allowing himself to lose hope for their survival or to question his role in saving their lives?

A sigh escapes Jim. "Tomorrow we move the search west—"

"_Captain_."

It's the way his First Officer says that title, low and hinting at caution, which causes Jim to rise swiftly to alertness. His gaze follows Spock's, searching the desert. Then he sees it: a shape moving fluidly through the dark, twin to the night yet separate from it.

Jim prepares to raise the alarm, not certain who would wish to attack them (except for the colonists with secrets to hide?) but having been a part of too many battles in his lifetime to remain ignorant of the possibility.

"Jim." Spock switches to his first name, a request to wait.

Tense but willing to trust the instincts of his First Officer, he remains still, silent.

The creature is, Jim realizes, four-footed. Not the size of a man. Had he been right about the coyote?

A beast of short black, bristling hair and yellow eyes stops only feet away, encased in darkness at the boundary between shadow and moonlight where it simply watches them. One minute passes; another. At last, satisfied by whatever it sees, it takes the final step from the night into the faint glow of their camp lanterns. The beast is not a beast but a woman whose skin has molded itself against the bones of her face; and her eyes—knowing eyes, smoky with age.

Jim almost goes to her out of wonder but Spock shifts at his side, acting as a subtle blockade to Jim's path while asking of their visitor, "Who are you?"

Jim looks at Spock like he is, in fact, alien. Spock is straightforward but not usually so discourteous. McCoy's disappearance is trying for them all, Jim realizes. Even for those who profess to have no great love for Doctor Leonard McCoy.

Surprisingly, the woman answers. "I am called Gram." Her eyes darken, wander past them to the outline of the camp.

Something tells Jim this woman is not a colonist. Is she a native of the desert then? "We're searching for one of our lost companions."

Her eyes return to meet his. "Have you not found something of him?"

The desert feels frozen in time between her innocuous question and Jim's sudden understanding of what lies beneath it. Spock does not stop him from stepping forward. "What do you know about my officer?"

"Yours," she echoes thoughtfully. "Then you claim him."

"Yes. He is part of my crew aboard the Enterprise."

The name of his starship probably means nothing to her. Nevertheless, Gram studies him gravely. But it is to Spock that she says, "The answers you have do not satisfy you. How long will you continue to seek the one who is lost?"

"Time is not our constraint," Spock tells her. "It is knowledge which eludes us… and the cooperation of those with that knowledge."

Gram's mouth curls with an almost smile. "I will help you. Think no more of what eludes you—or the man who is and is not your McCoy."

"What do you mean?" Jim demands. He reminds then the sleeping officers inside their camp and lowers his voice though it is not less fierce in its questioning. "Are you talking about the… body?"

"Yes."

"Then it isn't McCoy." Relief is a heady sensation, close to dizzying. He plants his feet and gives no sign of it. This woman may be their only chance to find McCoy, but there is no advantage to her knowing how desperate they are for her help. "Was it a trick?"

"To keep the man."

Spock hypothesizes, "You know where Doctor McCoy is."

Her eyes say yes but her mouth refuses to shape the word, like it is a burden or a curse.

"You will lead me to him," Jim says simply, smoothly. To Spock, he asks a silent question. _Should we trust her?_

The Vulcan's look is louder than words. _We have no choice. We must._

* * *

The fox does not stay with them. Leonard catches sight of it weaving among the tall pines, a thin shadow sliding along the forest floor. Once he thinks he sees eyes watching him from a distance, too wide to belong to Red but of the same dark, sly quality. He shakes off the nonsensical feeling and steadily marches on.

They might have been traveling for a day or a year when he hears it: singing. At first it sounds so far away, it could be the song of star. One of the stars floating by the Enterprise, calling him home, Leonard imagines with tears in his eyes.

The distant song grows note by note, and his heart stirs with it. The trees seem to shift, and Rowan grows quiet; Leonard does not notice. High atop a tree is a bird—lovely, wild, made of firelight. It croons sweetly to the sky, fanning its plume of feathers like languid flames.

Leonard's unfaltering steps bring him beneath the tree, and the singing falls silent. A long neck curves downward; golden eyes watch him.

He breathes in wonder, "She's beautiful."

"Firebirds are also deadly," his companion replies.

Leonard cannot fathom how that could possibly be, but the serious shade of Rowan's eyes speaks of a truth.

They pass by the tree, but Leonard keeps his eyes fixed above. The firebird departs from its branch with a last trailing note, gracefully shifting shape as it goes. It—she—lands upon the forest path, a pale face and body surrounded by an endless tumble of red curls. Then she begins to sing again, the woman, in all her wild beauty as fire and ivory, bird and human. Her golden eyes are beguiling like her voice, and Leonard could forget who he is, seized so steadfastly by her. He hears the depth of her song, a remembrance of love and loss, and it stirs an elusive memory of his own. Yet the memory slips away at the firebird's call, each thought of Leonard's turning to one of hers.

The trees shift again, opening to take him in. He longs to go. But Rowan touches his shoulder.

"A firebird is what you follow to change your life. Is that what you wish?"

Notes sharpen, falling like fiery cinders. Leonard can feel them burn against his skin.

"No," he says reluctantly.

"Then leave her to seduce the moon and the stars, Doctor. Your path does not end here."

He turns his back to her and follows Rowan, but for a long, long time he hears the firebird singing to the blank face of the moon. It is even longer still before he untangles his heart from her song.

* * *

They wake Uhura, who opted to stay at the camp rather return to the Enterprise after her latest report. She listens quietly to Jim's recounting of the meeting with Gram and accepts everything her Captain has to say. Only at the end does she ask, perhaps already knowing the answer, "Where do you need me, sir?"

"Mr. Scott is aware of the situation. He has command of the Enterprise until I return."

Uhura turns to the Vulcan, who has made no remark since she had woken to find him standing at the lifted flap of her tent, watching Jim pace the interior of the tent with dark, calm eyes.

Jim answers her unspoken question. "Mr. Spock will be joining me." He doesn't sound amused. "Gram seems to believe his... appearance will work in our favor."

Jim would have preferred to leave his First Officer behind to take charge of the ship and the situation with the colonists. Spock, for his part, had not corrected Gram's assumption that he would accompany Jim. If Jim did not know better, he would think the Vulcan harbors some irrational notion of responsibility for McCoy's plight.

He pushes that thought aside.

"If you are willing, Uhura, I want you to return to the colony. Keep them guessing but do not tell them what Spock and I are attempting to do. As far as they need to know, we are still with the search party moving westward." He pauses to gather more thoughts into words. "Whether there is any substance to what you learned, I don't know—but there may be others who need saving. I don't want to risk them any more than I want to risk McCoy." He cannot allow himself to think too long about parents turning over their children to some stranger because that stranger feels it is his or her due; it angers him. "We've heard many lies, and we've heard twice as many excuses disguised as fairy tales in the past few days, Lieutenant. What I want is the truth, and I intend to find it."

Her face mirrors the hard set of his. "If you find Doctor McCoy, Captain, chances are you will have more truth than you might want."

His smile is mirthless. "I would rather live with an unpleasant truth than a sweet lie."

And if he decides, because of the truth, to place the colonist's children under the protection of the Federation, and in particular on his ship, he will do exactly that. His command gold may have its limitations in the eyes of Starfleet but his conscience does not.

* * *

Leonard insists on taking a break, despite that he feels neither tired nor aching from a long walk. He sits between the shelter of two trees and stares at his hands while Rowan vanishes into the forest, intent on some task Leonard is not to know of. McCoy's ears still faintly hear the firebird's song but it no longer has a strong hold on him, passing from his thoughts like a leaf swept downstream. Hunger too is a long-ago memory; pain even more so. Leonard simply is, now. He is a man existing in a body untouchable to the weaknesses of humanity. That should frighten him, but he feels nothing. Clinically there is a name for his apathy—yet even that small thought becomes unimportant.

Leonard removes the ring on his smallest finger and drops it to the ground. It rolls into a nest of pine needles where the metal glows soft and pale.

"What ails you?"

The fox called Red has returned; Leonard feels no surprise. That the fox talks, too, is of no consequence.

The corner of his mouth lifts faintly. "What could ail me in this world?"

"Well said. There is little to trouble you here, only what you choose to trouble yourself with."

"Red the wise," McCoy says sardonically.

"Never so wise was I," laughs the fox, "until I grew a snout and a simpler view of the world."

"Then you were not always a fox?"

Red slinks to a tree and rubs against its bark, eyes slit in pleasure. "Of course not. I was a prince—foolish and feckless and... alas, I am still!" He laughs again, a silky, sly sound.

Leonard considers what might be troubling him, as Red had implied, and his thoughts lift somewhat from their drowsy fog. "I feel... lost in the wood," he says slowly, watching an owl with sapphire eyes take flight through the trees. "Everything and nothing points the way toward home."

With his fox's nose, Red pushes aside dead leaves and fallen berries. "Every path is tangled."

"Yes."

"I could guide you."

Leonard watches him. "I thought I had a Guide."

"But is he guiding you to his purpose or yours?"

A fox's grin is full of teeth even when he sounds sincere. Leonard looks away. The forest is silent, no voices in the leaves or wild beauties singing fire into a man's heart. He imagines everything is listening for his answer. The words stay locked tightly in his mouth. Finally, he forces some of them out: "I don't know."

"When you do know, you need only ask for my help," Red tells him.

"Why would you help me?"

"That is part of my curse. I must ask every human I meet how I might ease his burdens."

Leonard is startled. It had not occurred to him that Red is not simply a magical being in an otherworld but an individual as trapped as he is. "How can your curse be broken? By helping me?" he asks curiously.

Red's eyes contemplate Leonard's ring half-hidden in the leaves. "That is the tangle in my path" is the fox's only reply. Then Red turns away with a great leap over a twisted root and disappears beneath a bramble patch, barking out another laugh as he goes.

Leonard is left to wonder when he might see the strange creature again. He picks up his ring, cold now, and slides it onto his finger, uncertain of what had possessed him to remove it. Rowan appears in the trees ahead and beckons him. He goes.

* * *

Beyond the bluffs, the sun sinks slowly. Jim tries to memorize the way it slants over the rocks, how it casts the desert into a long stretch of orange shadow. He has an unsettling feeling that once the sun sets he won't see it again.

"Where are you taking us?" Jim asks as he, Spock, and Gram pass an ancient river bed, dry and white as bone.

"To a place where even death is not the end of the story."

He looks to Spock and sees that the Vulcan is equally at a loss to interpret her meaning.

_Bones_, Jim thinks grimly, _what are we getting into?_

As if she can hear that thought, Gram answers. "The man you seek will not be easy to find. The longer he is apart from this world, the deeper he is rooted to the other. There will be trials to overcome, a price to be paid. Three tasks, one for each of you: the healer, the leader, and the wise one."

With a glimmer of amusement, Jim can almost hear Bones' incredulous rebuke: why is _Spock _the wise one?

Gram wouldn't understand his snort of laughter. Jim immediately sobers under her sharp gaze and a question of his own. "If you know where McCoy is, why would he be difficult to find?"

Jim doesn't like her silence or her carefully blank expression. "It's rather simple," Jim presses on. "Take us to Doctor McCoy, and we will bring him home."

Gram stops walking. Jim and Spock stop short as well.

"I can lead you to the lost one," she agrees, "but it is not my place to return him to you."

"Then whose is it?" he asks sharply, internally railing against the thought of McCoy's freedom dependent on anyone's whim.

"It is Leonard's."

Jim inhales. Partly turning away from Gram, to Spock he mutters, "Why does that sound more ominous than it should?"

"I do not know, Jim," the Vulcan replies softly, "but it is imperative we find him soon."

Jim nods and Gram resumes walking again, taking them down a dangerous path Jim can feel but not see.

* * *

**Continued in sequel, The Oak Queen.**


End file.
